STAGES OF GRIEF
by Amandah Leigh
Summary: Lucius is executed post-war, destroying Narcissa. She seems unable to go on until Draco enlists the help of Severus Snape, a man who knows what it is to grieve. But when she develops feelings for Snape, Draco wonders if he's made a terrible mistake. Meanwhile, Draco and Hermione, his Ministry-appointed Mentor, are growing ever closer. Might they end up more than friends? HGDM SSNM
1. Denial

**Stages of Grief**

 **Detailed Description:**

Narcissa Malfoy considered Lucius the great love of her life, the only man she could ever want, half of her entire world (the other half being her beloved son) so when the fallout from the war takes him from her, she can't imagine going on. As she slips deeper into depression, desperate Draco calls upon Severus Snape for help, figuring if anyone knows what it is to grieve the only one you've ever loved, it's him. But when confused, broken Narcissa begins to transfer her feelings for her husband to the lonely, retired Potions Master, Draco fears he's made a terrible mistake.

Can Draco's Ministry appointed mentor, Hermione Granger, convince him otherwise?

Or, with Lucius gone and without Severus around, will Narcissa fall completely apart?

And what if Draco begins to feel for his mentor as his mother might for Severus...?

 **Primary Ships:**

Narcissa/Lucius, Draco/Hermione, Narcissa/Snape, Bellatrix/Voldemort, Harry/Ginny

 **Other Canon Characters:**

Lily Potter, Harry Potter, Andromeda Tonks, Cygnus Black, Druella Black, Ron Weasley

Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Teddy Lupin, Ginny Weasley, Minerva McGonagall

Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Hestia Jones, & Kingsley Shacklebolt

 **Rated/Genre:**

M (updated from T mid-fic)

Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Romance

Yes, there are lemons in later chapters

 **Note:**

Severus Snape has survived Nagini's bite

Lucius has been arrested and imprisoned

Hermione has broken up with Ron Weasley

Otherwise, all reasonable attempts are made to keep both canon/DH-compliant (not epilogue/CC)

* * *

 **STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER ONE:**

 **DENIAL**

"Mother?" Draco rapped his knuckles on the wall outside her bedroom. She had refused to accompany him to the Ministry that morning, to receive his father's belongings and wand, to make a public statement, and to sign the acknowledgement papers. "Mother, please let me in."

"I'd rather be alone, Draco."

He sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the cool oak of her heavy bedroom door. She hardly ever left the room. She'd only been out of the Manor twice since his father's arrest. Once, to testify on his behalf, and once more, to say goodbye after his sentence was handed down.

"Mother, please open the door. Will you open the door?"

No answer.

"If you won't open the door, I'll break down the wards and open it myself."

No answer.

"I'm going to count to three, Mother, then I'm coming in."

No answer.

"Have it your way! One. Two..." He drew his wand, touching the tip to the doorknob, and closed his eyes. He was not ready to be the man of the Malfoy Manor. He was not capable of parenting his own mother. Nothing in his privileged childhood could have prepared him for all that had happened since the Dark Lord returned to power and destroyed his perfect life, and while everyone else in the wizarding world seemed to be picking up the pieces and moving on, the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor seemed to be getting steadily worse. "Three!"

He had gotten used to dismantling the protective wards around his mother's room, starting with Alohomora and ending with a blasting spell to force the wardrobe away from the door it was barricading. He wondered why his mother bothered to do this every damn day. She was able to make the wards stronger, to keep him out if she wanted to, but she chose only to make it difficult enough to inconvenience him.

She was sprawled out on her back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wearing a long black nightdress, with her unwashed, tangled blonde hair spread out over the pillow. The candles in the sconces on the wall were all out; he wondered how long she'd been in the dark. The thick stench of liquor and potions and house-elf made meals she hadn't eaten permeated the room. He waved his wand to open the windows, letting sunlight in and stale air out.

"Mother, it is done."

"I can't hear you, Draco."

"Mother," he raised his voice, though he knew that was a lie. "It is done."

"It's not," she said simply. She gaze remained fixed on the ceiling above. "It's a mistake. He'll be home soon."

"He won't."

"I testified for him. I told them he wasn't a bad man. I told them he did only what he had to. I told them..."

"I was there, Mother. I know what you told them."

"They wouldn't take him away from me. To do so would be unnecessarily cruel. We've been together since I was fifteen. Fifteen, Draco. I've loved him all that time."

"I know, Mother."

"Our first kiss was on our wedding day. I loved him all that time, but we were never allowed alone together for long enough, not until we were married. Pureblood families are careful that way. Both the parents of the bride and the parents of the groom wish to protect their investment – their child being the investment – thus the rules are very strict."

"Mother, come down to the kitchen. Let a house-elf make you a meal."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat."

"Leave me."

"Mother." Draco sat on the edge of her bed. She did not look at him, but she did slide from the center to the left side of the bed, formerly his father's side, and didn't pull away when he took her small, trembling hand between his. "We have to talk about what happened today."

"I loved him for three years before he married me, Draco. Three. We used to have dinner here, together, every Sunday night during our one year of post-Hogwarts courtship. My parents, his parents, him, and me. Sometimes my sister Bella and her husband would come along, but most of the time, it was just the six of us. After dinner, the adults – they made it clear they were the adults and we, at eighteen and nineteen, were the children – would have a drink in the drawing room and we'd be permitted to walk the grounds or sit outside by the lake and watch the peacocks. He used to hold my hand and sniff my hair and whisper all the _very_ grownup things we'd do together once we..." She trailed off, seemingly remembering that her audience consisted of her son. "I'm sorry. You don't need to know that."

"I know you loved him Mother."

"Love him."

"Love him."

"He's coming back. We're going to grow old together. We promised each other on our wedding night. Women have thrown themselves at him our entire marriage but I never felt threatened, I never truly worried one would steal him away."

While she talked, Draco began subtly Vanishing liquor bottles, potion vials, and plates of barely nibbled food down to the kitchen to be handled by the house-elves.

"There was one, when you were about six months old, who was so persistent I contemplated confronting her. She was on the Hogwarts Board of Govorners. I told him I didn't like the way she looked at him, the way she was always brushing against his arm or laughing too hard when he said something mildly witty. He told me he liked seeing me jealous. I informed him that I was not jealous; I was annoyed. No woman disrespects me by flirting with my husband, that's what I told him. But I was jealous. I gained so much weight when I had you, Draco. I felt sick and exhausted and unattractive and fat. We bumped into her in Hogsmeade about a week after I told him I wanted her to stay away. She made eyes at him, even though I was standing right there. And do you know what he did, Draco?"

"No, Mother. What did he do?"

"He kissed me. Right there in Hogsmeade, right in front of her. Not a little peck on the cheek, but a real kiss, better than our wedding day kiss. Someone snapped a picture. It made the gossip column of the Daily Prophet. He apparated us home and we made love and he assured me having his baby only made me more beautiful, that she could never compare, not even on her best day when held up to my worst."

Draco nodded and squeezed her hand, but he was only half-listening. He knew she wasn't sharing this because he needed to know, but because she wanted to remember it, to make it more real. Since she didn't seem to be paying him any mind, he turned his attention to the liquor bottles that still had whiskey and wine in them and Vanished those, too. She was drinking too much. Drinking, taking potions, ignoring food, and, he suspected, purposely hurting herself. There were markings that looked like burns along her inner left arm.

"When you were seven, Draco, we got pregnant again."

He knew this. He remembered. Mostly he remembered feeling furious over the notion of having to share his parents' affections with some horrible, smelly, nappy-wearing spit-up factory, and then he remembered feeling guilty after they lost the baby, as he wondered if wishing it away had killed it, thus making his mother's pain his fault.

"The midwife departed after confirming the miscarriage; I couldn't stop apologizing to your father for failing him. But he held me and he let me cry and he cried too and he never made me feel broken for my inability to give him more children. They made him sound like a monster at his trial. But a monster wouldn't have cried with his wife – he didn't just cry for the baby, he cried for me. Because I was hurting and he couldn't stand to see me hurt. That's what he said. Does that sound like a monster to you? Does it?"

"No, Mother, it doesn't."

"Go tell them, Draco. Go tell them about how he cried when we lost the baby. Tell them he isn't a monster."

"It's too late for that, Mother."

She wrenched her hand away as if he'd burnt her skin. She held it with her other hand, massaging her palm with her thumb, and closed her eyes.

"He's gone, Mother."

"He's not, Draco."

"He is, Mother."

"Draco, why are you trying to hurt me? Your father wouldn't try to hurt me. Don't you want to be like your father? When you were little, you wanted to be his spitting image, his shadow, him in miniature."

"I want you to eat." He knelt beside her on the bed and tried to make her move, but she suddenly felt heavier than a hippogriff, despite having wasted away from naturally slender to an unhealthy slim. Would it be unfair to simply side-along apparate her to the kitchen and use the Imperius Curse to force food into her mouth? "You've filled your belly with nothing but liquor and Dreamless Sleep for weeks."

"What does that matter? What does anything matter?"

"I'm still here. Doesn't that matter?"

She finally tore her eyes from the ceiling, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were sapphire blue, her mother's eyes. His were cobalt gray, same as his father's.

"Draco, please, tell me they didn't go through with it. Please tell me he was issued a stay. Please tell me this is a nightmare from which I'll wake up to find your father in bed beside me, where he should be, exonerated, not labeled a criminal, not imprisoned, but here and healthy and happy to be free from the Dark Lord's tyranny."

"I'm not going to lie to you." With one hand on her back and the other on her right arm, he urged her into a seated position. "I need you to get up. I need you to shower. I need you to stop drinking. I need you to take care of yourself. I need you to eat."

"Why?" She sniffled and the tears started. Each one felt like a knife in Draco's heart. He understood why seeing his mother cry had made his father cry all those years ago. She was a beautiful crier, a heartbreaking sight, so dignified and yet so broken. "Why eat? Why shower? Why not drink until I forget how to feel?"

"Why?" asked Draco, trying not to get angry with her, trying not to resent the fact that he was entirely unable to process and grieve as long as he had to care for her the way she couldn't for herself. "Why, Mother? Because I don't want to end up with _two_ dead parents."


	2. Shock

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWO:**

 **SHOCK**

Shock came before denial.

Shock came before everything.

When they came to Malfoy Manor -

When they asked for Lucius -

When they said he was under arrest -

That was the first shock.

He'd gone bravely, head held high, more dignified and stoic than he'd seemed throughout the last year since his release from Azkaban. Thirteen months he'd been in that hellhole and he'd come out a changed man. But the end of the war had liberated him. He learned his closest friend, Severus Snape, was a covert operative, a spy, a hero. He learned his wife was an impressive Occlumens, a savior in her own right, willing to set aside her regard for her own life and lie straight in the face of the Dark Lord. He learned that his son was a better man than he'd raised him to be, as, in the end, the boy had told his parents he could no longer support their side and wanted to be done with it, only to be surprised to learn he was not alone. He thought their lives would go on now, that they, too, would pick up the shattered pieces and rebuild.

But the Ministry had other intentions for the head of Malfoy Manor.

The Aurors took him by either arm, prepared to lead him forcibly from the home, but he assured them this was not necessary; he would go willingly.

"No, please, don't take him!" Narcissa had sobbed, clutching at his robes. "Please, please, he only did what he had to. He's not a bad person!"

"We'll sort it out in front of the Wizengamot, Feather," he'd said, his voice low. The use of her nickname, a name only _he_ ever called her, one he'd decided upon during their post-Hogwarts courtship, just made her cry harder. "Go back inside. Stay with Draco."

"We won't let them keep you in Azkaban, Father," said Draco bravely from the doorway. He caught his mother as she half-collapsed into his arms, and jutted up his chin, determined not to show fear or upset in front of these Ministry goons, people who, just weeks ago, had been too afraid of Voldemort to fight back against him, the very people who'd been rounding up and persecuting Muggleborns using the justification, "It's the law," no matter how personally reprehensible they found the new policies.

(Magic is might? Ha. Magic is weak. Wizards and witches are weak. In a strange sense, Draco no longer believed in magic.)

Narcissa hadn't slept at all that night. She'd paced and cried and drank and cursed. It was the first full night she'd been away from her husband since his stint in Azkaban, during which she also hadn't slept... not much, anyway, and not well. She took potions to knock herself out and keep nightmares at bay, but often woke up multiple times per night, only to reach across the bed expecting to feel him there and to find herself alone. She hated sleeping alone.

She loved her husband more than words could possibly express. She was a woman who loved deeply. She loved her son, she loved her husband, and (most of the time) she loved her sister – though if she'd had to choose between her sister and either her husband or son, she would have done exactly as Molly Weasley had in the Great Hall.

When the war ended, she and Lucius and Draco gathered with the rest of the still standing wizarding world – those who hadn't fled – and took stock of the dead. They huddled in a corner of the Great Hall feeling out of place and not sure they were welcome, for they had been the enemy, however unwilling in the end. She had already seen her sister, who lay peacefully on the floor on her back, as if sleeping. She'd taken Bella's wand, broken it in two, and pocketed it with the intention of burying it on the grounds of Malfoy Manor, since she was certain the Ministry would keep and dispose of the witch's body. Surely they would not afford the families of Death Eaters proper burials and funerals and memorials, no matter how much those families loved them. It had been that way after the first war. Even the corpses of those who committed suicide to avoid Azkaban were stolen from their houses before they'd gone cold.

No one asked them for a statement or told them to leave, but after awhile they decided, by mutual unspoken agreement, to apparate home.

Without a word, Draco went straight into his bedroom, so Narcissa led Lucius to theirs. He was quiet, perhaps in shock, with red-rimmed eyes, disheveled robes, and slumped shoulders, rendering him almost unrecognizable from the man he'd been before.

She'd guided him into the bathroom off their bedroom and undressed him slowly and carefully. He had several deep cuts and forming bruises, a mix of battle scars and unhealed past punishments, and upon divesting herself of her own clothing as well she coaxed him into the shower.

"Let me take care of you," she whispered as she worked shampoo into his tangled blond hair, choosing not to ask why there was a streak of blood across his cheek. Though she was of average height, she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the crown of his head. She scratched her long, gold-painted nails lightly into his scalp, the way she knew he liked, and his eyes closed. He nuzzled his head against her hand as she rinsed the suds down his back. _If he were a cat,_ she thought, _he'd be purring._ She kissed his neck, tasting shampoo, and he sighed. He kept his eyes closed as she washed the rest of him, soaping up his arms and legs and torso, unable to stop herself from spending perhaps a little too much time on the parts of his anatomy she liked the most, one of which sprung to attention at her touch. She pressed her lips to the center of his chest – he had a tuft of curly, soft blond hair there – and was contented when he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close. His erection dug into her hip but he made no attempt to stimulate her nor did he encourage her to pleasure him.

"I love you, Lucius," she murmured, her lips brushing lightly against his wet chest with each word. "I live for you and Draco."

He did not speak but his eyes opened, his steel gray eyes, which met hers, then he cupped her face and kissed her tenderly, not diverting his gaze from hers. She smiled slightly and kissed him back, this time with eyes closed, as his hands ghosted across her hips to her lower back and hers slipped up his sudsy chest to his strong shoulders. _Perfect shoulders,_ she thought. _Perfect skin. Perfect hair. Perfect body. Perfect man._

When they parted, he reached slowly for her shampoo, a fruity concoction she had specially made and shipped by owl from Spain. During the war and her husband's incarceration, it had been the only costly comfort she had continued to allow herself. He worked it into a lather and massaged it into her hair, from her black dyed roots to her split blonde ends, at one point pulling her so close they were chest-to-chest.

"Would you let your hair go natural, if I asked it of you?"

"Natural?" She gazed up at him with obvious confusion. "You mean stop coloring the top, leave it all blonde?"

"When I left for Azkaban, it was starting to go gray here..." He ran his index finger along her natural part. "And here." He brought his first two fingers up to both of her temples. "I liked it."

"Bella made fun of the gray. She said I looked old. She said people would assume I'm the eldest Black sister because she and Andromeda have held up better."

"You're beautiful." He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pressed his lips to her temple, where he'd just said she'd been going gray, and she felt as if her body was melting against his. "You've always been beautiful and she's always been envious of your beauty, that's why she teased you. As magically capable and intimidating as she could be, she was threatened by your looks. She knew she could never compare."

"Let's not speak ill of the dead." It pained Narcissa to even say these words, the first spoken acknowledgement of her sister's murder at the wand of Molly Weasley, of all witches. But all three Malfoys had escaped the Final Battle relatively unscathed, and that was what truly mattered. She'd stood by her husband and saved her son. She was a good wife. She was a good mother.

"I would have died if you had," said Lucius. He turned off the water, wrung out his hair, then did the same to hers, gathering and twisting it to release excess water. She reached out for their robes on the double hook – matching, white and fluffy, each with their initials embroidered over the left breast in gold – and helped him into his before pulling on her own.

"If I'd lost you, or Draco, I would have..." His voice cracked. He seemed unable to finish the sentence.

"I know, Peacock."

That was his nickname, given by her, on the same day he'd dubbed her "Feather." They'd been sitting on the stone bench in the front garden at Malfoy Manor, holding hands, when one strutted by, its blue, green, and gold feathers in full view. She'd said it reminded her of him, proud and colorful and unmistakably aware of how good-looking it was. Just then, an incoming owl swooped too close, startling it. The peacock had hurried off, leaving behind one of its feathers (commonly lost during malting). Lucius picked it up, tickled her nose with it, and told her _she_ was what made him look good... she was his feather.

These embarrassing but cherished pet names were often used when alone together but otherwise remained a secret, never spoken in public, not through their entire marriage. Save, of course, for the day the Aurors came to arrest him.

The second shock came directly after his trial.

They had expected it to be like the previous war. His reputation, money, name and clout combined with a good enough story on the stand to see him exonerated, no time served, for which he'd shown his gratuity by giving a number of hefty donations to important causes. Last time, he hadn't even needed character witnesses to testify on his behalf. This time, Draco, Severus, and Narcissa took the stand, asking for leniency, swearing he'd only acted under duress, that he'd long wanted out.

None of it mattered.

The Wizengamot found him guilty.

They sentenced him to a Dementor's Kiss.

A fate worse than death.

Narcissa sobbed and swore and threw herself on the stone dais by his feet and refused to let them take him, but they did. She promised they'd appeal, which they did.

Then they lost the appeal.

The third shock.

But it seemed their luck was changing. Kingsley Shacklebolt became Minister for Magic in October, 1998, and immediately passed a number of new laws, including ending the practice of using the kiss of a Dementor to punish criminals. Now Narcissa had hope. If Lucius was in Azkaban, there was hope. If he was only in Azkaban, she had time.

In early November, the Ministry decreed that all those sentenced to the Kiss would be killed instead, using an outdated American method that was considered humane.

"He'll be lowered into a substance that looks similar to that inside a Penseive. He will see only his happiest memories as he sinks, and death will welcome him," explained a bored sounding official from the Office of Magical Law Enforcement. "Your husband won't feel any pain."

"But _I_ will," Naricssa had argued. _"I will."_

They appealed again.

Denied.

And on the eighth of December, 1998, Narcissa and Draco were permitted one visit with Lucius, which was to last only one hour, to say goodbye.

Forty-eight hours later, he was gone.

The final shock.

She had survived the war. Draco had survived the war.

But Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the love of her life, half of her entire world, the man who called her Feather and was proud to be her Peacock –

He was gone.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I know this is a depressing start to this fic and I'm sorry, but she has to suffer before she can heal... and Severus will 'help' with both. Thanks for reading, following, adding to favorites, and reviewing! Also note I made one change from the fic description - I eliminated Delphini. Since this is also eventually a Hermione/Draco fic, there's really no need to keep canon with Cursed Child at all, and she wasn't adding much to the story. Thx again!

 **-AL**


	3. Help

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER THREE:**

 **HELP**

When Draco was told in order to avoid his own trial for war crimes he had to sign up for the new Ministry Mentorship Reform Program, he reckoned it seemed like a much better prospect than prison.

When he found out who his Ministry Mentor was to be, he very nearly responded, "Take me to Azkaban instead."

Once per week.

That's how often they'd have to meet.

Once per week at least, but at least six times per month. Thus some weeks he had to see his Ministry Mentor _more than once_ per week. It was about six times per month too many.

The program was announced in early June, one month post-war, and kicked off as of the first of July. Now it was December, just three days after his father's semi-public execution, and he was seated in the Drawing Room of Malfoy Manor, a room no one was permitted to enter anymore, not even the house-elves, since it had been used as a torture chamber by the Dark Lord, as he awaited her arrival. He sat here in the dark, waiting, figuring his mother wouldn't know he'd broken her rule since it wasn't as if she'd be leaving her bedroom any time soon.

At two sharp, there it was: the bang of the doorknocker.

He sighed, rose slowly, and headed to the hall. He'd given strict instructions to the house-elves two months ago that he was to open the door himself whenever she came to call from then on. He said it was because he did not respect her enough to allow her the benefit of service of his servants, but the truth was, he knew she hated the subjugation of house-elves and saw no reason to start their every interaction off with self-righteous anger.

(Also, he'd grown to like her just a little...)

He looked himself over in the hall mirror quickly before opening the door. His hair was perfectly parted to the side, his robe crisp and clean, he was clean-shaven and wearing a spot of cologne, and he even practiced a slight smile, hoping to appear welcoming despite the mourning.

She knocked again, louder and more persistently this time. She was not the most patient person. With another deep breath, he pulled open the door.

"I was worried you wouldn't answer," she said, flashing him the same small smile he'd just been practicing. He nodded as the corners of his mouth forgot how to turn up.

It was a cold, dreary December day, but her bushy brown hair frizzed out like she'd been beaten in battle by midsummer humidity. Draco was surprised to see snow on the ground at her feet. She'd had to trudge through it up the walk (apparently the house-elves had been neglectful in their grounds-keeping duties) and there were flakes of white on the crown of her head and settled on her shoulders.

"Hermione Granger," he said with a cool but unnecessary nod of recognition. "Good afternoon."

"It's only just stopped snowing." She brushed it off as she entered. "Have you been outside since...?"

"Not since, no." He closed the door behind her and warded it locked, not that the protection was needed. No one but her came to call on them these days.

"Would you like tea?"

"Will a house-elf be preparing it?"

He shrugged. This damn woman and her never-bending sense of morality.

"Tell you what, Draco. You lead me to the kitchen and I'll make the tea. I'll even make you something to eat with it. You've lost more weight."

"How can you tell?"

"I can tell."

He led her to the kitchen, as requested, and she put on water for the tea. They'd done this before. She knew where the kitchen was, where the tea things were, and she'd even cooked for him before, but for some reason they made the mutual agreement (the _silent_ mutual agreement) to act as though every time was the first time.

He wondered if it was like this for her other Mentees. She'd taken on four, twice as many as anyone else, as she felt the cause was a necessary one and – in her words – "I want to make a positive mark on the world."

Silly as it seemed, he couldn't help hoping he was her favorite, that she might even _enjoy_ coming to see him, even though it had taken her weeks just to be able to step foot inside his home, and despite the heavy cloud of darkness lingering in the air, reminding them of what this Manor had been used for since the Dark Lord's return to power. Now that his father was gone, truly gone, Draco could feel his loss through the walls as well. He wondered if it felt different to her.

"Milk and honey?" Hermione did not wait for a response before preparing the tea as he liked it. She didn't have to ask. She set his mug down in front of him and settled herself across the small oblong table with her own mug. She took her tea with one cube of sugar, nothing more.

"You were at the execution," he said after his first sip. She nodded. "You were outside, with the protesters. I spotted you, but..."

"I wish our protests had made a difference."

"It made a difference to me." He stared down at the mug between his hands. Tears welled up in his eyes, rendering him too humiliated to meet her gaze. What would she think of him, crying like a child? He hated himself for showing this weakness, especially in front of her.

She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. Though his instinct was to pull away, he forced himself to remain frozen, half wishing he could simply melt into the floor and be gone. Her hand was freezing, presumably the result of having been standing on his front step in the cold while he took his time answering the door.

"You should do a warming charm when you're out in this weather. Or, at the very least, wear gloves."

"I forgot my gloves at the home of the Mentee I checked in on this morning. I have other pairs at home but I apparated straight here. I didn't want to be late."

"Who did you see this morning?"

"Stan Shunpike, the former Knight Bus conductor. He doesn't need me, not really, but he signed up for the program upon his release from Azkaban. I think he just needs someplace to belong. He's nice enough. A bit slow. I'm teaching him to play Wizard's Chess."

"You're rubbish at Wizard's Chess."

"I know. But I'm better than he is."

Draco snorted. She removed her hand from atop his.

"We could play today, if you'd like," she suggested. He'd been teaching her since late-August and while he enjoyed teasing her over the fact that she was apparently not good at _everything_ , she was undeniably getting better. It was easier picking it up from him – he was a surprisingly patient and entertaining teacher – than from Harry and especially Ron, who took it far too seriously.

"Not sure I'm in the mood today. I was hoping you and I could brainstorm ideas about what to do with my mother."

"How is she?"

"Unwell."

"Worse than before the... than before your Father's death? Or about the same?"

"I think she hurts herself. She has markings all up and down her left forearm. They look like burn scars, half-healed blisters. My aunt used to do the same. It was the reason she always wore long sleeves, regardless of the weather."

Hermione shuddered at the thought of Bellatrix. She unconsciously tugged on the sleeve covering her own left arm, where the word _MUDBLOOD_ was permanently etched into her skin from the sadistic witch's knife. This was the reason it had taken her so long to enter his home, but due to his six months of house arrest they'd had to meet on the grounds, thus they'd spent an abundance of time in the gardens and by the lake until the weather started to turn. It was pouring the late September day she agreed to come inside for the first time and she'd broken down upon passing the entrance to the Drawing Room. He'd ended up comforting her and the moment had marked a turning point in their strained, forced relationship. He wasn't sure he could call them friends now, since she only visited when she was supposed to, but he liked to think of her as his friend. Merlin knows he didn't currently have any others.

"Your mother needs help."

"I know. I'm trying to help her."

"More help than you can provide. Have you reached out to St. Mungo's? Perhaps they have Healers who deal with..."

"She would hate me for it. She is an intensely private person and I worry public humiliation – more than we've already endured – might send her over the edge." He took a long sip of the tea, letting the hot liquid coat his throat, thinking he might be able to get his mother to take some after Hermione's departure. "You read the Prophet the next day?"

Hermione's cheeks took on pink spots, a flush that continued down her neck, but he knew her well enough to know this was a blush of anger and not embarrassment.

"Those vile reporters; they shouldn't be permitted to call themselves journalists!"

"I try to keep the paper from her, but she'd ordered a house-elf to bring it, expecting something about the execution would be in there. I think she needed to see it for herself, to know that it was real. I think the execution was the only real thing in that rubbish article."

The writer of the article had not only cruelly described in great detail the minute-by-minute details surrounding Lucius Malfoy's execution, he had also delved into his personal life, rehashing every crime he was accused of, and, worst of all, suggesting that he'd had a number of affairs through the years with various beautiful women, none of whom were named, and all of whom allegedly spoke to the Prophet under promise of anonymity. Perhaps Draco was being naïve, but he didn't believe a word of it, and wrote off the claims as pure sensationalism. His father had adored his mother. They'd always been sickeningly loving toward each other when no one but the three of them were home. His entire childhood he'd taken great care to knock loudly and cough before entering any room, as he had accidentally interrupted them in a casual snog session (or... worse!... _more)_ several times as a young boy.

He had also been out in public with his father, without his mother, on numerous occasions during which women had practically thrown themselves at the Malfoy patriarch only to be firmly and quickly rebuked, after which Lucius would tell his son, "There's no reason to accept a lump of coal, even a free one, when you have the world's most beautiful diamond waiting for you at home."

The last two years of the war had been the most difficult, and during the one his father was home, Draco had worried their marriage was suffering from the stress, but the day after the Final Battle, when the couple finally emerged from their bedroom, he could already see a change in them. Both looked healthier and better rested than they had in months. His father touched his mother constantly – had a hand on her knee or on the small of her back or twirled her hair between his fingers mid-conversation – while she was calling him "Peacock" and "Darling" and "Love." It was actually a little disgusting in their son's view, but now he missed it. His friend Crabbe's parents had gone through a vicious divorce Third Year. He'd much rather have a mum and dad who were all over each other like teenagers than a mum and dad who couldn't even be left alone in the same room without trying to kill each other.

"You're awfully quiet," said Hermione, breaking into his thoughts.

"Do you think my father had affairs?"

"No," she answered simply. "The quotes from those 'women' the reporter claimed to have been given exclusively all read like they came from tawdry romance novels written by men. Women don't actually talk that way. And if any such women did really exist, why would they go to the Prophet to anonymously brag about having been with him in the first place? What was there to gain? It doesn't make sense. The Prophet wants what it always wants – to sell papers – and so they give readers what they think they want to read rather than what they ought to know."

"Thanks." He finished his tea, rose, and stretched. "Chess?"

"Not yet." She motioned for him to sit and summoned over the kettle with her wand to refill both their mugs, then set to making sandwiches. "Let's talk more about your mother. It must wear terribly on you, caring for her alone."

"I won't put her in the hospital, if that's what you're about to suggest. I can only imagine what the Prophet would make of that: 'Suicidal Sister of Dark Lord's Mistress Involuntarily Committed After Husband's Execution.' No, thank you."

"What if she had a Mentor, like you?"

"What do you mean? You want me to sign her up for the Ministry program? She'll kill me. The headline will read, 'Suicidal Sister of Dark Lord's Mistress Murders Meddling Son After Husband's Execution.'"

Hermione giggled despite the gravity of the situation and Draco couldn't hide a satisfied smirk. He had a dry dark sense of humor that she seemed to like... and he liked that she liked it. Not that he would like for anyone to know that he liked that she liked it.

"What if she had an unofficial Mentor?" Hermione pressed on as she Accioed plates from the cupboard. "I've been giving this a lot of thought. I even have one in mind. A certain someone who knows what it is to grieve the only one he's ever truly loved, a certain someone who is most likely just as lonely and outcasted as she is, a certain someone already known to her and to your family...?"

Draco's jaw dropped. "Snape?"

"Snape." She set the sandwich down in front of him.

"Snape!" Draco's mind reeled. Severus Snape, spy for the Order, defector from the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, enemy of all turned reluctant war hero, a man who'd barely survived the Final Battle and made it clear during the trials that followed he wished he bloody hadn't... could he help Narcissa? They had been friends, once. He had been Lucius' closest friend. And after his father's arrest, Severus Snape had been the only person outside their family permitted a visit with him in Azkaban in the week before his death. Lucius had expressed to his son how much he appreciated that his old mate stuck by him, testified on his behalf, and never judged him even when he deserved judgment. Snape had also made that Unbreakable Vow with his mother before the start of Sixth Year, promising to keep Draco safe and to keep him from becoming a killer, after his mother begged it of him, even though it could have meant all their deaths had the Dark Lord found out. (If Bellatrix had not been killed, Draco would very much liked to have asked her about this, as he couldn't believe she hadn't gone straight to her lover and master to tell him of his right-hand-man's betrayal. He couldn't believe she had valued the life of her sister over the death of her competition for Favorite Follower, fanatical as she was in her devotion, and as gleeful as she was to murder her other sister's only daughter.)

"That's not a bad idea, Hermione," said Draco finally, wondering if he could convince Severus to do it. "You know, for a Muggleborn, you're reasonably intelligent."

"Sod off, you pampered Pureblood Pufferfish."

He grinned. He liked it when she insulted him. She smiled too. For the rest of his Mentorship Session, they sipped tea, ate, and discussed how he could best approach Severus Snape with this request. When it was time for her to go (half an hour later than her allotted time, actually) he walked her to the door.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" he asked, letting the words tumble out before his brain could censor them.

"Breakfast with friends in the morning, followed by an afternoon supper with my parents."

"Oh." He tried not to appear crestfallen. Of course she had plans with family and friends. That's how most people spent Christmas. He would be lucky if he could get his mother to open her bedroom door and consume something other than alcohol for the holiday.

"But if you're going to be home, I could pay you a visit in the evening, if you'd like," she added quickly. He almost told her not to bother, but her expression was so earnest and kind, and he thought it would be nice to have something to look forward to...

"You'll come for dessert?"

"Will the house-elves be making it?"

"Of course not," he said sarcastically. "Between now and then I intend to learn to cook."

"If you cook a dessert for me, I'll be happy to eat dessert with you." She pulled on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. "In the interim, I'll see you in one week, same time?"

He nodded.

She turned to go.

He watched from the window until she'd made it to the apparition point beyond the gates and disappeared.

Now he had two goals:

Convince Severus Snape to help him with his grieving mother –

And learn how to cook an edible Christmas dessert.


	4. Bargaining

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER FOUR:**

 **BARGAINING**

Severus Snape spent most of his time post-war holed up in his home on Spinner's End, drinking alcohol, reading Muggle garbage, eating like a University student, and wishing he'd just fucking died from that stupid snake bite. If Lucius was here...

If Lucius was still here...

He would have no qualms about giving the man the cold shoulder, about making him _work_ to fix their friendship, about telling him exactly how furious he was that the elder man, who'd once been a sort of mentor to him, had slipped into the Shrieking Shack after the Dark Lord left it to staunch his wound and save his life.

But Lucius wasn't here.

And when Severus had last seen him, when he'd been permitted to say goodbye before the execution, he hadn't been able to express his resentment, not to a man who would do anything to go on living, so Severus said thank you and they shook hands and he promised he would look in on Draco and Narcissa periodically, a promise he'd not kept but told himself he would, eventually.

It was in early December, or perhaps mid, he couldn't be sure (the days all ran together) that he was sitting on this threadbare couch, sipping cheap wine, and reading a new book he'd picked up from the library (A Game of Thrones, by some mildly talented American Muggle who clearly knew nothing of real magic) that a sharp knock on his door nearly caused him to upend his drink. He hadn't felt a flickering of the wards to indicate a wizard or witch was about to intrude, which he found unsettling, but he went to the door all the same. Wand out, he called, "Who's there?"

"It's me," said a familiar voice, though the speaker sounded more timid that Severus had ever heard him.

"It is I," corrected Severus upon answering the door. "Who the fuck taught you how to speak?"

"Good to see you, too." Draco entered without invitation. Straight in front of him were the stairs and to his right, the wall he knew was really a door that led to a sitting room lined with bookshelves, so he began pressing his hand against the paneling, seeking the secret switch.

"It's here," said Severus, growing quickly impatient. He put his thumb to a slight indentation in the wood, one that might look like it had been caused by a slight collision with a piece of furniture, and the wall swung open. It closed on its own once they were in the room. Severus poured Draco a glass of wine and they settled on opposite ends of the old couch.

"How are you?" asked Severus, his tone less gruff now, as he looked over his former student with concern.

"I don't have the luxury of falling apart," answered Draco. He sipped the wine and fought himself not to pull a face. He'd forgotten how much he hated red wine. Any liquor, really. He had not inherited his father's taste for the very best the wizarding world's wineries and distilleries had to offer. "That's why I've come."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

Draco told Severus Snape all about Narcissa since his father's arrest, and how much worse it had gotten since the execution, and how afraid he was that he'd end up an orphan before his nineteenth birthday. Severus felt sick listening to this, sick with guilt, as he inwardly berated himself for having neglected to check in on them.

"So can you?" Draco finished. Severus stared at him for a long moment. He had mentally drifted away during the young man's speech.

"Can I...?" Severus prompted.

"Help? My mother? Please?"

"Certainly," said Severus, wondering what this help would entail and silently cursing himself for not paying attention.

"Excellent!" Draco brightened. Severus didn't know it, but this was the first smile he'd made since his father's arrest with the exceptions of those during Hermione's Mentorship visits. "Could you start tomorrow? I'll have her awake and fed and showered... all you need to do is, you know, whatever it is you need to do."

"Excuse me?" Now Severus _really_ wished he'd been listening better.

"Tomorrow, perhaps... two? In the afternoon? I think if you start by talking to her, maybe see if she'll talk to you, and then, if she'll let you, she needs treatment for the burns on her arm and perhaps something to help wean her from the alcohol, if such a thing exists, though I am reluctant to rely too heavily on potions as she's been abusing Dreamless Sleep and a number of others as well; I've had to cut off her supply by caging her owl and micro-managing her personal house-elf. Thank you sir. I owe you... I already owed you, but I owe you more now."

"You owe me nothing," said Severus. He Accioed over the wine bottle to top off his glass. He held it out to Draco but the young man shook his head, having plenty left. "Your parents were good friends to me for a long time. I met them when I was still in school, you know. Your father was Head Boy when I was in my First Year and you mother was a Sixth Year prefect." Severus refrained from mentioning that it was Narcissa who had first introduced Severus and Lucius to the Death Eaters, when one was still a student and the other a newlywed. Her older sister had called upon her to help recruit new followers – this was before Narcissa knew that genocide and world domination were among the Dark Lord's plans – and she'd been happy to oblige.

"I must return home." Draco placed his half-full wine goblet on the small end table and stood, holding out a hand to the former Headmaster, who shook it. "I'm no longer under house arrest but I don't like to leave Mother alone too long... just in case."

"Tomorrow at two," said Severus with a nod. "I'll do as I can."

Draco walked back to the spot in the woods by the river where he'd initially arrived to apparate back to Malfoy Manor. He wished he hadn't put off asking Snape for help for a week after Hermione suggested it, but he'd first tried (in vain) to help his mother himself, using "If you won't do it for me, I'll have to call in reinforcements" as a threat.

"Call in one of your father's ex-mistresses," she'd said miserably. "Maybe they'll do what I can't."

(If Draco ever came across that reporter in a dark alley, he'd hex the bloke's bollocks off.)

The following day, Draco was determined to get Narcissa out of bed, fed, showered, and dressed as promised.

"Mother, get up." He stood, arms folded, at the foot of her bed, staring at her in what he hoped was a no-nonsense way. She glanced at him briefly before averting her gaze back to the ceiling.

"I don't want to."

He knelt beside her on the bed, forcing her into a seated position, then tried to turn her body so her legs were over the side of the mattress without letting her flop back.

"Your muscles are going to atrophy from lack of use."

"Let them."

He gritted his teeth. He wanted to shout at her, to swear at her, to remind her that she hadn't only been Lucius' wife, she had been his fucking mother, and ask whether she remembered that she still had a child she once claimed she'd do anything for. Instead, all he said was, "Please, Mother. We have to get you cleaned and dressed and fed."

"Draco, you're getting on my last bloody nerve," she snapped, and though he didn't say so, he was glad to hear a bit of fire back in her voice.

"You've been on mine for months, Mother." Deciding he was through trying to get her to do what he wanted he decided to do to her as she'd done to him countless times as a small child, when she wanted him to take a bath but he refused. He gathered her in his arms (it was easy; she weighed next to nothing), carried her into the bathroom off the bedroom, and deposited her gently into the porcelain clawfoot tub, as that was easier than stuffing her upright into the shower. Before she could protest or escape, he tapped the faucet with his wand. Freezing cold water came out, making her yelp.

"Are you trying to turn me into an ice sculpture?"

"Make it hotter then, if you want."

"I want to get out."

"I'll be sitting outside this door. Take a shower. Take a bath. Take something. Wash your hair. You look dreadful."

"I'm still dressed!" She struggled with the knob, making the water warmer, as the material of her nightgown became heavy from the water pooled at the bottom of the tub.

"Get undressed, then. I'll be right outside." He stood, stalked to the door, and was about to slam it shut when she called out to him.

"Wait! What's the day, Draco?"

"Monday."

"The date?"

"Twenty-first."

"Of...?"

He sighed. "December."

"Almost Christmas, then."

"Yes." He closed his eyes and silently counted down from five. "Almost."

He Accioed over the little puffy-topped stool from in front of her vanity and sat himself outside the closed door, as he'd said he would. She remained in the tub for so long he started to worry she drowned in there, but he was determined not to check – seeing his father lowered into a murderous pit of memories was bad enough, he had no desire to find his mother naked floating face-down in her own tub. Finally, though, she emerged, donning the overlarge white dressing gown with the initials _LAM_ embroidered across the pocket in gold, with her hair wrapped in a towel.

"Get dressed and then we'll eat."

"No thank you." She crawled back under the covers of her bed, rested her head on the pillow, and closed her eyes.

"Please, Mother! Hermione said you..."

"Hermione?" she interrupted. Her eyes snapped open. "Hermione who?"

"Hermione Granger."

"The Mudblood? Since when do you speak with Hermione Granger?"

"Since... since... since the bloody war ended! Mother!" He threw up his hands, took two steps forward, and nearly fell ass-over-teakettle thanks to a wine bottle discarded on the floor. "I'm in that Ministry Mentorship program, remember? She's my Mentor. She comes here once or twice per week to..."

"She comes _here_ once or twice a week? The Mudblood? And the two of you have discussed me?"

"She... yes, once or twice per week. And yes, we've discussed you."

"Sharing our personal family business with the Gryffindor princess?!" There was a bit of that fire Draco thought he'd missed. He missed it less now that she was exhibiting it. "What's wrong with you, Draco? Have you no dignity left? Have I? What did you tell her?"

"Mother, I merely told her... she knows you're... sad."

"Sad?" Narcissa laughed bitterly. "That's the understatement of the century, isn't it?"

"I only want to help you, Mother. That's why Prof..."

"You can help me by leaving me be, Draco. Everyone grieves at their own pace. I lost your father less than two weeks ago and you act as though I should be up shopping and throwing parties, going about my daily business!"

"I don't need you shopping and throwing parties, Mother, but eating real food and showering regularly would be a fucking treat!"

"Don't speak to me that way. You're not too old to have your mouth slapped."

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't need any help!"

"You do! You've been this way for months. I know you need to grieve, I understand that it takes time, but Mother, you're... you're... If you die... you're all... I'm worried about you!" He crawled onto the bed from the bottom and up until he was beside her, to the left, on his father's side of the bed. He reached under the blanket and grabbed her wrist, forcing her arm up, and drew back her sleeve, where the blisters and burns marred her pale skin. "This! This is why you need help! _This_ is not grieving! _I_ am grieving. I know what it is to grieve! But _this–"_

She wrenched her arm away and to his horror, began to cry. "I am broken and empty without him, Draco," she whimpered miserably. "I do this so I can remember what it is to feel."

Draco bowed his head, turned his body, and leaned back against the ornately carved headboard that had been in his family for generations. When he was little he loved coming in here, climbing into bed between his parents, and tracing the massive indented M with his fingertip. He'd led a privileged life. It was gone now.

"Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me what Potter's Mudblood girlfriend said to you about me during one of your Mentorship sessions."

"I wish you'd stop calling her a Mudblood. She has a name. And she's not Potter's girlfriend. I wasn't happy about having her here at first either but she's a good Mentor. She's... she's sort of even my friend."

"You like this girl?" She forced herself into a seated position and turned to him, wiping tears from her cheeks. She was still half-covered by blankets; he remained on top of them rather than under. "This Hermione Granger? You're smitten with her?"

"What makes you think that?" He felt his face going hot and hoped she couldn't see the pink in his cheeks in the dim, flickering candlelight. To his great surprise, she smiled. It was the first time he'd seen her smile in... he couldn't remember how long.

"My Draco has a crush on a little Mud... Muggle-born girl. Fancy that!" She chuckled. "Your father would be appalled."

"Are _you_ appalled, Mother?" Quickly, he added, "To know she's my friend, I mean. Because that's _all_ she is. Barely a friend and nothing more."

"Does it make you happy when she visits?"

"Happier than I am when she's _not_ here, yes."

"Then tell me what advice she has for me. I'm interested in the insights of a little girl who's never lost anyone she loves."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"She said she thinks you could benefit from a mentor of sorts, same as I have. An unrelated person to talk to, to confide in, someone who knows what you're going through – or, at the very least, is willing to try to understand – and that's why I wanted you up and dressed and clean today. I have someone coming..."

"A Ministry Mentor for me? I don't think so, love."

"Not Ministry-appointed, no. Just... an old friend. I thought it might benefit you to talk with an old friend."

"I have old friends?" Her old friends weren't speaking to her. Those that had survived the war and avoided prison were not happy to learn she'd lied to the Dark Lord, sparing Harry Potter, because her only goal during the battle had been to find and save her son.

"Professor Snape. That's who's coming here today. It's nearly one now and he'll be here at two. I was afraid if I told you ahead of time, you'd refuse to see him."

"I'll still refuse to see him."

"Please, Mother. It's all I ask of you!"

"You ask a lot of me."

"Fine. Then it's _the last thing_ I'll ask of you. See Snape. Speak to him. Let him try to help you. And... and if you do so... I won't... I won't have you committed."

"You won't have me committed no matter what I do, Draco." She patted his knee. "You love me too much and I know you too well. Don't forget, I've known you longer than you've known yourself. You lived inside me for thirty-nine weeks and three days, remember? If you want to bargain, you'll have to offer something else."

"Fine." He glowered, annoyed she'd so casually called his bluff. "I know that's your last wine bottle." He gestured toward the one he'd tripped on. "And I know you're down to your last two vials of Dreamless Sleep. If you won't see Snape, I won't ask him for more potions and I'll keep you cut off from the liquor – _all of it._ With Father gone, _I_ am the Master of Malfoy Manor, which means I outrank you, thus if I tell the house-elves you're to have no more, they'll listen. Even if I ordered them to bring me your wand so I could snap it in two, they would have to obey."

She gasped and glanced toward her bedside table, inside which her black and silver wand was stored.

"But if you agree to see Snape this afternoon, I won't make you give up your vices and medications, nor will I touch your wand. I'll even supply you with more potions, in reasonable doses, and purchase a few cases of that expensive Italian elf-made red wine you love, the one we couldn't get during the war. How's that for a bargain?"

"You want me to quit alcohol and potions so you're forcing me to see Severus as a 'sort of mentor,' and if I agree to this you'll supply me with alcohol and potions?"

"Basically, yes."

"This was Hermione Granger's idea?"

"To a lesser extent, yes."

"I thought she was smarter than that." She removed the towel from her head, dried her hair, and thought this over. Finally she tossed it to the ground, turned to Draco, and nodded. "If you'd like me to be dressed before Severus arrives, get out of my room. You have yourself a bargain."

He held out his hand and she shook it, even though that felt a bit silly. He then kissed her temple, the way she used to do to him.

"I love you, Mother."

"I love you too, you manipulative little bastard."


	5. Reminiscence

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER FIVE:**

 **REMINISCENCE**

Narcissa refused to tell Draco about her visit with Severus. They'd disappeared into the forbidden drawing room for over two hours and though her son tried to listen through a crack in the door, all Draco could hear was a muffled buzzing sound, as if the room were full of bees.

Upon leaving, Severus merely nodded to Draco, who rushed into the room expecting to find his mother furious with him for having forced this on her or sobbing, as she so often did, but she simply stood, kissed his cheek, and said goodnight, heading back to her room even though it was nowhere near bedtime.

This, of course, drove Draco batty. He did not enjoy feeling left out or uninformed, but there was little he could do about it, save for trying to spike his mother's wine with Veritaserum before peppering her with questions (while he was not above the option, he knew she'd hex him in January for it afterward). Thus all he could do was hope the visit had done some good as opposed to harm, and move on.

On Christmas morning, he awoke early, as he always did on Christmas. It was as if his subconscious mind hadn't gotten the word that he was no longer a child, eager to climb into bed with his parents, wake them, and beg for presents. He waited until noon to knock on his mother's door.

As usual, she ordered him to leave her alone.

As usual, he gave her three warnings before using his wand to send her wardrobe back where it belonged.

"Must we do this every time, Mother?" he asked, leaning against her door frame. She was sitting up in bed, a photo album open in her lap, still in her nightdress, with his father's dressing gown laid carefully beside her in the bed. He cocked a thin blond eyebrow and pointed to it.

"It still smells like him," she explained. "Come look at these pictures with me, Love."

He hung the dressing gown on one of the bed's four posters and sat beside her, momentarily wondering when he'd be too old for this. Surely, at eighteen, he didn't need to be sitting in bed beside his mummy anymore, but since she rarely left the room he supposed it was necessary.

"Look." She tapped the picture in the upper left corner of the right side page. "That was our first Christmas together. I was pretty, wasn't I? I was your age, eighteen. We'd only been married four months. I stopped attending school after Sixth Year. He had finished too, being a year older, and we had our official courtship for one year after that, beginning the first of July. We wed the following August, the fourth of August, and departed late that evening for a two-week honeymoon, after which I came here to live. The picture was taken in the drawing room. It was decorated differently then, when your grandmother was in charge. She had awful taste and as soon as she died I had it redone. We had four Christmas trees, one in each corner of the room, each decorated differently. This one, you can't tell with the grayscale, but this one was all white and gold, symbolizing our marriage and the start of our lives together. My wedding gown was gold, you know, and your father's dress robes were white, and..."

"I know, Mother," said Draco, who'd heard all this before. "That painting from your wedding hangs in the library, so I've seen your dress and his robe."

"Yes, well..." She ran her fingertips lightly over Lucius in the photograph, which was moving. He had an arm around his wife's waist, his hand on her lower abdomen, and was holding her close. She was trying to escape his grip, but was laughing. Her long hair, white in the picture, partially obscured her face as she twisted and swatted at his chest.

"My mother wanted a proper photograph, an appropriate one, with us standing beside each other very still and subdued in front of the tree, but he couldn't stop touching me. He'd wait until she was about to click the button, then poke me in the side or pinch my..." She glanced at Draco, opted not to finish the sentence, and returned her gaze to the picture. "By the time this one was taken I couldn't stop laughing and Mother was furious with me. Notice how he's keeping a straight face, as if he _wasn't_ the reason I couldn't behave! He kept saying, 'I'm so sorry, I don't know what's wrong with her, Mrs. Black. She simply _won't_ keep still!' He actually apologized to her because _I_ was disobedient! When she sent me the developed photograph weeks later, it was accompanied by a Howler! I had to cover my ears for fifteen minutes as her voice screeched at me for my insolence and immaturity, while that cheeky bastard I married sat across the breakfast table, laughing until he cried!"

Draco sniggered. He liked seeing his mother smile and he also liked hearing stories like this about his father, wishing he could have been alive for times like that. He hadn't known the man his mother said his father used to be, a cheeky, good-humored trickster. By the time he was born, Lucius had appropriately settled into his role as patriarch of Malfoy Manor. He was every bit the quintessential Slytherin, smooth and calculating, determined and manipulative, rarely emotional (at least in public), and always acting with regard to his image. He had a difficult time believing his father had done some of the things his mother and aunt said he had, but the slight upward turn of his father's lips in this photograph gave credence to his mother's claim.

"I wish you could have known him then." Narcissa smiled wistfully and turned the page. As usual, she seemed to know what her son was thinking. While it was his aunt who taught him the basics of Occlumency, since learning of the ancient magic he'd often wondered if his mother was both an Occlumens and a Legilimens, but at the same time, he was afraid to ask – Merlin only knew how much she must know that he didn't want her to if she'd been capable of basically reading his mind his entire life.

"I do, too. He seemed... fun."

"He _was_ fun. This one here, this was our first anniversary. We went to Egypt for a long weekend. It was the first time I'd been out of Europe. He'd traveled the world as a boy with your grandparents but my family... Mother didn't like strangers. We saw the Great Pyramids and the Sphinx and ate the most delicious foods. We wanted so badly to come back from that trip as a trio, if you understand my meaning, but it was _years_ before we managed to conceive you... though not for lack of trying."

Draco bit his tongue. He hated it when his mother gave him too much information like this. The woman really needed some friends to confide in instead. Since his father's arrest she'd been far too forthcoming with the personal details of their relationship.

"Here's another Christmas..." She flipped quickly through a few more pages. Apparently she had this album memorized. "When I was expecting you. I had such horrible morning sickness. I lost a stone during my second month alone and I wasn't big to begin with. Your father used to hold my hair and rub my back... sometimes I'd be so exhausted after I was through vomiting I couldn't even get myself up from the floor, so he'd lift me and carry me to bed and do a cleaning spell on my mouth and feed me ginger biscuits and sips of water... The Wizengamot didn't hear about any of that, though, did they?"

"No, they didn't."

"I broke two of his fingers when I was in labor. These two." She tapped her left pinky and ring finger with her right index. "But he let me continue to hold his hand. We had you right here in the Manor, as was customary. We did everything the old-fashioned way, to preserve the pureblood line and keep traditions alive and all that, from our courtship to the wedding ceremony to the post-consummation examination to the way a midwife Mediwitch delivered you at home without any pain medications for me."

Draco inwardly shuddered over the thought of a 'consummation examination.' He knew that meant the couple had to engage in sexual intercourse before leaving for their honeymoon and then the bed had to be checked for blood while the bride had to be examined for a broken hymen, and he hoped such a thing wasn't in his future as well. He could only imagine having to explain such an archaic custom to his future wife. His parents had broken tradition by requesting they be allowed to wed, as opposed to having been set up the way his aunt Bellatrix and her husband were, which might mean his mother would be less married to the old ways than his grandmother and great-grandmother had been.

"We couldn't wait to leave for our honeymoon. All we wanted for all those years was to be alone together. Really alone, not the make-believe alone of sitting in the garden together without our parents, knowing somewhere a house-elf was spying in case he tried to touch me. Once, during dinner with both our parents, he placed his hand on my knee under the table. I had to work to maintain a straight face, even as his hand slipped higher up my thigh. I was terrified they would somehow know what he was doing, that they would see through the wood of the table, and when he'd ventured nearly to my knickers I gasped and knocked my water goblet onto my plate, ruining my lamb chop. My mother whipped me for it when we returned home. Actually whipped me, with a hex of her own invention, right across the backs of my legs. She said I'd be lucky if he'd still want to marry me knowing I was such a clumsy girl, but your father loved the scar she left along the back of my thigh. He used to trace it with his-"

Draco, feeling thoroughly disgusted despite not knowing what his father had traced it with, desperately needed to change the subject.

"Mother, my Ministry Mentor is coming today."

"Today? On Christmas?"

"Yes, this evening."

"Very well."

"We'll be having dessert together..." _(Unless it came out of the oven completely inedible.)_ "Would you like to join us?"

"No thank you, Love. I intend to spend the day here, doing this."

"The entire day?"

"The entire day."

"Won't you eat anything? We can have dinner before Herm... before my Mentor arrives."

"I'm not hungry, thank you. Your father loved Christmas dinner, remember? It was the only time of year we had the house-elves fix beef wellington. He loved beef wellington. We could have afforded to have it any other time, too, but his grandparents only ever had it served on Christmas, his parents did the same, and he thought it would make the meal less special to be able to have it any time." She sniffled and Draco stiffened, knowing she was about to cry again, and wishing she wouldn't. "Last year, with the war, we weren't able to... and the year before, he was in Azkaban... We haven't had a proper Christmas dinner since... since..."

"Since 1995. I know, Mother. My fifth year. I came home for the holiday. It was a few weeks before Auntie came to live here. It was..."

"It was the last bit of normalcy for us," she finished, though that hadn't been what he was going to say. "It was the last decent holiday. The last time this Manor felt like our home, before the Dark Lord made it his headquarters, when we knew he was back but had no idea what was to come. You were a prefect, remember? Same as your father had been. He was Head Boy, you know."

"You were a prefect too, Mother."

"I didn't matter. Dumbledore only chose me because he hoped having additional responsibilities and importance would encourage me to finish out my education, unlike my sisters. I was even offered Head Girl, but I couldn't accept because once I turned seventeen my education was over. I was fortunate to be allowed to finish Sixth Year."

This was another rule of tradition Draco intended to break someday. Should he ever marry and have a daughter, she would _not_ be dropping out of school early to dedicate her time to courting and an early marriage.

Draco and his mother spent the next couple of hours going through the photo album and talking, and while it certainly wasn't the ideal way to spend a Christmas, considering all that had happened in their lives in the last three years, it wasn't the worst way either - though he did have to cut her off a few more times to avoid hearing more than any boy ever wanted to know about his parents.

In the early evening, Draco heard the doorknocker and leapt up from the kitchen table, but took several breaths before heading to the hall, not wanting to appear over-eager. His dessert attempt, a chocolate soufflé, was cooling on the counter. It had risen and looked alright when he removed it from the oven and added the powdered sugar, but he had no idea how it would taste. His four previous attempts had been disasters.

He checked himself in the mirror, as usual, and deciding he looked alright he threw open the door with the most welcoming smile he could manage.

"Hermione!"

But it was not Hermione standing on his step.

"I have been called a great many names in my thirty-eight years here on this earth," said the drawling voice of the ex-potions professor, "But 'Hermione' is a first."

"Sorry." Draco's face flushed redder than the cranberry garland he'd looped around the small Christmas tree in the sitting room. Usually the house-elves would decorate, but this year he gave them the holiday off and said anything related to it he wanted to do himself. "Come in, Professor."

"Call me Severus." Severus Snape removed his traveling cloak as he stepped inside the entryway, brushing snow from his hair and shoulders. "I am no longer your professor, nor do I wish to be referred to as such."

"Of course, Severus." Draco shut the door, but not before a burst of freezing cold air invaded the hall. "What brings you here?"

"Your mother. Didn't she tell you to expect me?"

"No, she... she didn't."

"I have a Christmas gift for her." He held up a green glass jar. "For her burns. What I brought the other day was not going to be sufficient, thus I needed the time to brew and blend this."

"So they _are_ burns, you've confirmed?"

"Yes. Self-inflicted, as you suspected. I can heal them, but there's likely to be permanent scarring, especially if she continues to destroy the new skin that develops after the dead skin has peeled off."

Draco shivered, though not from the cold. "Can't you stop her from doing it?"

"I am a wizard, not a god. She has free will; all I have is this healing salve. Is she in her bedroom?"

Draco nodded.

"May I..." He jerked his head down the hall, toward the stairs.

Draco nodded again.

"You may have to fight her to open the door."

"I'm not worried." Severus started down the hall, paused, and turned back. "You are expecting Miss Granger?"

"Yes. She's my... my Ministry-appointed Mentor."

"And she's working on Christmas?"

"She doesn't like to deviate from her schedule, I suppose," said Draco, but he hoped he was the only person she planned to see today, aside from the family and friends with whom she already had plans. He hated to think she'd stop off to say hello to Stan Shunpike first. Of course, she was running late, so...

"She must be good for you," said Severus, looking the younger man over appraisingly. "You're holding up better than I would have expected."

"I no longer resent her presence in my home or life." Draco hoped this sounded casual and detached. "She's not the worst Muggle-born witch I've ever met."

Severus' lips grew into a sort-of half-sneer, half-smile. "Is that so?"

Draco shrugged. Severus' smirk grew.

"In case I don't see you before I depart, Happy Christmas, Draco."

"Happy Christmas, sir."

Draco had just returned to the kitchen when there was another knock at the door. This time he hurried into the hall, but he made sure to glance himself over in the mirror as always before answering.

"Hermione?"

"Draco!" She shook out her thick hair and gave him a quick hug, which dampened the front of his good robes, thanks to the snow accumulating on her wool coat. He noticed she was wearing gloves today. She smiled broadly as he took her winter things. "Happy Christmas! I'm sorry I'm late. My parents wanted to have a giant row, so it took me awhile to escape." Though this sounded serious, her smile did not falter. "Did you make a dessert for me?"

"I did!" He hung her coat in the closet and placed her gloves and hat in the basket below it. The house-elves would see to it that all were warm and dry before it would be time for her to wear them again.

"You made it all on your own?"

"All on my own!" _(She didn't need to know that the house-elves had helped him through the first three of his four disastrous run-throughs)._ "I told you I would and I did. I am highly capable of doing anything I set my mind to."

"Something we have in common." She smiled at him again. He smiled back. She had a nice smile - had she always? He hadn't noticed it when they were at Hogwarts together. Perhaps because she had no reason to smile when he was around.

"I hope you like chocolate."

"Who doesn't like chocolate? Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you a present. It's small." She followed him toward the kitchen. He inwardly cringed, not having even thought about getting her something. "Would you like it now or after dessert?"

"After," he answered after a pause. "This way, if the dessert I made is terrible, I still have something to look forward to."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing this, plus adding to Follows and Faves! I have just restructured my notes and future chapters because a couple (including this one) had to be broken in half, so it's more likely to be 20-21 chapters than 15-17 now. Hope nobody minds! I won't be updating on certain days like I try to with ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME because with my writing schedule (doing final book edits right now! wish me luck!) I just don't know when I'll be able to, but I'm a few chapters ahead with this one already so it shouldn't be super slow-going. Thanks again for reading, and if you haven't let me know your thoughts yet, please do! I love reading them.

 **-AL**


	6. Resentment

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER SIX:**

 **RESENTMENT**

While Draco and Hermione headed to the kitchen, upstairs in the master bedroom Narcissa was in bed, as usual, with her husband's dressing gown thrown over her and two down pillows over that. When she had her eyes closed, the combination of the weight and his smell almost made it feel like he was there. She was sighing and smiling and mentally reliving their first Christmas together when a knock intruded upon her memory.

"Go away, Draco," she called.

"Not Draco!" called the knocker.

She tossed the pillows to the side and hung her husband's robe on the bedpost, then put on a silk dressing gown over her nightdress before opening the door.

"Severus? What are you doing here?"

"I told you I would return in four days to attend to those burns. Are there any new ones since I was last here?"

Her face flushed, which he took to mean yes.

"Sit down."

She settled on the foot of the bed. He placed the stool from her vanity opposite her.

"Take this off." He tugged on her sleeve.

Blushing even more deeply, she obliged. He did not react to seeing her in such a delicate state of undress, for which she was grateful. Her burgundy satin nightgown was sleeveless, giving him easy access to her left arm. He acted as a Healer would, gently rubbing the salve on her marred skin, seemingly unaware of how uncomfortable this level of physical intimacy made her. She wished she'd asked him down to the sitting room instead, but it was too late now, he was a third of the way done.

"Severus?"

"Hm?" He was examining a particularly nasty looking blister forming on the underside of her wrist. This was new; she'd done it this morning, before Draco entered.

"Did my Lucius... do you read the Prophet?"

"I do." He tapped his wand to it, puncturing it, then pressed a clean cloth against her skin to soak up the clear pus oozing out. She had to look away. How he managed to avoid appearing revolted was beyond her comprehension. Once it was drained, he touched it with his wand again, lancing off what was left, then applied the cool, soothing salve.

"Did you read what they wrote about... did you see where anonymous women claimed... do you think he had...?"

He stopped what he was doing to meet her eye.

"You're asking whether I believe the claims that he had multiple affairs?"

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I don't believe it." He bent over her arm again, this time paying careful attention to a blister that was nearly-healed. "While it _is_ possible – I was not with him for every waking moment of our friendship, obviously – it would be entirely contrary to the person I knew to have done so. On numerous occasions when he and I were out together, women would approach him, stunningly beautiful women, and he was always quick to thank them for their attention, then try to pawn them off on me. If I had a galleon for every time he said, 'I'm married, but have you met my friend, Severus?' I would be wealthy enough to live in a place like this instead of that hovel inherited from my father." He massaged the salve carefully into these older wounds. These were the ones most likely to leave scars, as she'd reinjured the skin here over and over without letting each wound heal first.

"He would tell the women he was married? He's say it straight out?"

"Yes, though that alone wasn't always enough to deter them. You wouldn't believe how persistent these women could be."

"I'd believe it." Her cheeks reddened, this time with anger rather than embarrassment. "Some flirted with him right in front of me, as if I wasn't there! He would tease me about them later, try to get me to admit I was jealous... It was a sort of strange forepl..." She broke off. As she'd done so frequently with Draco as of late, she was spilling too much information. It had never been this way when Lucius was alive. She'd been a private, proud, and dignified person, nearly unrecognizable from the woman she was now.

Severus did not visibly react to her words, he merely continued with the healing process.

"Once, during the First War, when women were everywhere, the Dark Lord gifted him one for a job well done. She was... young and... her body was..." Severus cleared his throat and shook his head but did not elaborate. "Suffice it to say, most men would've been willing to give up a limb for an evening with her. Lucius said thank you and seemed to appreciate the gift, but as soon as the Dark Lord and our fellow Death Eaters apparated away, he asked me if I wanted her."

"To... to rape?" asked Narcissa, appalled. "Was she a sexual slave...?"

"No, we didn't rape women. The Dark Lord didn't need to order..." He sighed, clearly ill at ease with this discussion as he, too, was an intensely private person. "There were women around, always, looking for the status and security that would come from being with a man like Lucius, though a few were more interested in becoming newer, younger versions of your sister. As for this particular woman, Lucius could have had her without any coercion. She would have done anything – she made that clear – and she was willing to be discreet – she made that clear, too – but he didn't want her." Severus had no intention of mentioning it, but that beautiful, curvaceous woman had become the one to whom he lost his virginity at twenty, thus he'd always appreciated Lucius' dismissal of her. "Lucius told her he meant her no slight, but he had a wife and baby waiting for him and had to get home. This was mid-summer, 1980."

"Draco was born in June, 1980."

"I know. Lucius hated being away from you both. He was worried the Ministry Aurors would raid the Manor seeking him and you'd get caught in the crossfire."

"You think Lucius loved me?"

"Very much." He completed his work on her arm and returned the cap to the jar.

"I love him, Severus."

"I know, Narcissa."

"He's my whole world."

"No, he isn't." He placed the salve on her vanity table. "I seem to remember you coming to me hysterical, against the orders of the Dark Lord, two-and-a-half years ago. Begging me to help you avoid losing your whole world."

"Draco?"

"Draco."

"I love Draco with all my heart." She gazed down at her arm, red, raw, and glistening from the salve. "I haven't been a good mother since the end of the war, have I?"

"As a childless man raised by less-than-perfect parents, I am reluctant to criticize your mothering skills, but it would not surprise me if Draco is feeling neglected as of late. It's Christmas day, Narcissa, and you're still in bed, in your nightclothes, crying into Lucius' dressing gown and purposely hurting yourself. Have you eaten since I last saw you?"

"A little. Toast yesterday, soup the day before. I took a bath on Monday."

"It's now Friday. Take another one."

"Do I smell?" she asked, half-teasingly, half-genuinely concerned.

"Your bedroom smells like a distillery. Even a nose the size of mine can't make out any other scents with _that_ permeating the air."

She flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, her usual position. "May I be honest with you, Severus?"

"Please."

"It bothers me that you get to go on with life a war hero, and he was executed. Why? Because you spied for Dumbledore out of guilt? You joined up with the Dark Lord at the same time for the same reasons. You were Death Eaters for the same number of years. You committed equally horrible acts, even after you covertly defected. You cost the Weasley boy his ear; he could have died. Lucius didn't hurt _anyone_ during that battle on broomsticks, did he?"

"He did not; he was unarmed."

"So you did more damage than he did, eh, but he's dead and you're.. not that I want you dead, it's just... We defected, Severus! We didn't fight in the Final Battle. You did. You battled McGonagall! But all _we_ did was search for our son, plus Lucius saved your life and I lied to the Dark Lord, and now he's... they said he's... it didn't matter that... _it isn't fair!"_

Severus' cheek twitched. She'd hit on one of the reasons he hadn't checked in on her and Draco as promised. He suspected she would be resentful of his survival and subsequent pedestal placement and he couldn't blame her. In the end, Lucius had been as sickened by the Dark Lord's actions as he'd been, he simply hadn't been spurred to action as early on as Severus had. Though no one could pretend Severus had changed sides with purely altruistic, unselfish reasons, the public narrative put forth by Harry Potter made him seem like a good man who acted out of love rather than guilt, while putting forth the position that Lucius' defection was an attempt at solipsistic self-preservation and nothing more.

"Did he ever kill anyone, Severus? I know they charged him with the attempted murder of that Weasley girl and with the attempted murder of all those kids at the Ministry, Potter included, but he couldn't have been trying to kill them. He was far more powerful than any of them; if he'd wanted them dead, they'd be dead. But they're not dead. None of them are dead."

"He killed others, Narcissa. During both wars. We both did. We had to. And we both watched innocent people die."

"We've _all_ done that." The image of Charity Burbage, that Muggle Studies professor, suspended over the Malfoys dining room table before being fed to the snake flashed through her mind. "Why should _he_ pay for his crimes with his life while _you're_ lauded like a hero? Why should _I_ be free from prosecution, why should Thorfinn and Euphemia Rowle have only gotten time in Azkaban, why...?"

"They had no proof Thorfinn had ever used the Killing Curse," interjected Severus, standing by the bed, staring down at her. "Lucius' wand revealed that he had. That said, I can't imagine Lucius would have preferred Thorfinn's sentence over his own. A lifetime in Azkaban? Some things are worse than death."

"I don't know if I can go on without him, Severus." She sat up and ran her fingertips up her injured arm. "I know I shouldn't hurt myself but the only way I can escape the emotional pain is to self-inflict physical pain to distract me, to remind me I can feel... I can feel... I..." She ducked her head. Tears dripped off her upturned nose into her lap. Severus sighed. He'd never been good at comforting women, not even his own oft-abused mum. But he sat beside her on the foot of the bed, shoulder-to-shoulder, and took one of her hands between his own.

"I don't know how to help you," he quietly admitted.

"I don't know that I can be helped," she whispered in reply.

Meanwhile, down in the kitchen, Draco was anxiously serving his soufflé to Hermione. It had fallen in the center since being removed from the oven but he hoped it would taste fine all the same. She set the water on for tea while he made small talk. Finally, it was ready and they settled across from each other. She cut into hers first, spilling the melted chocolate from within.

"It's beautiful," she said. It wasn't, it was a mess, but he appreciated the lie. He sunk his fork into his own and took a bite. To his intense relief, it wasn't bad. It wasn't great – the house-elves could've done better – but it was more than merely edible and she seemed to enjoy it. She told him how proud she was that he'd managed on his own and though he wanted to feel insulted, he found he couldn't be, he was too pleased.

After they ate, she said she wasn't in a rush to go, so they took their tea into the parlor.

"What a lovely little tree!" It was three feet tall, he'd cut it down himself (using magic, not might, but that didn't matter) and it was decorated minimally, with the cranberry garland, small dangling pinecones, strings of popcorn, thin white candles, and tiny silver baubles. He'd placed it upon a small round table between two picture windows facing over the frozen lake, which looked positively picturesque with the new light dusting of snow over the ice.

"I'm sorry," he blurted as she touched one of the baubles. "I'm sorry I didn't think to get you a gift. I..."

"You _did_ get me a gift!" She sat in one of the two high-back leather chairs by the windows. He lowered himself into the other. "You learned to make a soufflé. That's a challenging dessert, especially for a first-timer. I expected a toffee pudding or lemon biscuits or perhaps a small cake."

"I confess, the house-elves taught me how, but this one I baked today was entirely of my own doing. I ordered them to – I mean, I _asked_ them to stay far away from the kitchen."

"You're quite unlike the boy I thought you were at Hogwarts." She sipped her tea and set the mug down on the table by the tree, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small green-wrapped box with a maroon bow on top. "I didn't intentionally do this in Slytherin and Gryffindor colors. It just looks Christmassy this way."

"Thank you." He took it from her and gingerly pulled back the paper without ripping it.

"That's just the wrapping," she said, smiling. "You don't have to take care to preserve it. I have more at home."

"I'm not a little boy, eager to tear into my gifts and leave a mess on the floor for the house-elves. Besides, there's something to be said for delayed gratification."

Pink spots dotted her cheeks at this, making him smirk. He liked having that effect on her.

"As for what you said before, the reason I'm quite unlike the boy you thought I was at Hogwarts is simply because I am not the boy I was at Hogwarts. Having the experiences I did over those last couple of years opened my eyes to the world around me, and my father's trial... Witnessing my father's trial was, in some strange ways, more difficult for me than witnessing his execution. By his execution, he'd made peace with what was to become of him. I hadn't, but he had, and he went into it with quiet dignity and stoicism. He was not a coward, despite what the Prophet might have readers believe. He feared the wrath of the Dark Lord, yes, but who didn't? Dumbledore, I suppose. But as Father told me during our last visit, anyone with something to lose was rightfully afraid. And he had a lot to lose, then. Once he knew he was marked for death, he was no longer scared. He knew Mother and I would..." Draco stared down at the unwrapped box in his hands, realizing he'd started to ramble. "I appreciate that you brought me anything at all. It hasn't felt much like Christmas this year."

"I hope you like it." Hermione leaned forward to gauge his reaction.

He opened the box. Inside was a small black, green, and silver pin in the shape of the Malfoy family crest with their motto, _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,_ meaning _Purity Will Always Conquer_. The M in its center was the same M carved into his parents' headboard, though this one was bookended by dragons. The crest also had serpents and swords in all four corners, with the words on a banner at the bottom.

"I hate the message of your family motto, to be perfectly honest, but when I came across this I felt you should have it. I even had it appraised. It's real, forged from goblin silver in the early seventeenth century, believed to have been commissioned by Septimus Malfoy, adviser to the Minister for Magic." She caught his look of surprise and interpreted it correctly. "I am interested in wizarding genealogy, being a Muggle-born myself. I went back through generations of my own family tree looking for any connection to the wizarding world, as they say it's unlikely for a Muggle child to show magical abilities without having a single wizard or witch for an ancestor. It turns out, if you go back two-hundred-eighty years, give or take, there was another witch in my family, a pureblood squib. Her maiden name was Bridget Fawley, but she married a Muggle named Philip Granger, gave up all connections to the magical world, and had only one child, who never showed signs of magic. I'm the first witch in all these years. I traced your family too, your father's side. It was easy, they kept detailed records, and we're not related, though one Fawley later married a Prewett, and Molly Weasley was a Prewett, and her uncle Ignatius Prewett married Lucretia Black, who was–"

"My mother's cousins' aunt, who is more distantly blood related to my mother too, because Sirius' and Regulus' parents were cousins. We have a copy of the Black family tapestry hanging in our library."

"You have a library? All these months I've been seeing you – I mean, _mentoring_ you – and you've never mentioned you have a library!"

"We have an entire bookshelf of genealogical records. If you're interested, you could visit some time to..."

"I'd love to!" Her face lit up, her eyes bright with excitement, so much so he had to look away. He couldn't recall the last time he'd made anyone happy enough to smile like that. It felt... awkward.

"Thank you for this gift," he said, changing the subject back to the pin on his palm. "Where did you find it?"

"A petty thief named Mundungus Fletcher was selling it from a trunk down at the entrance to Knockturn Alley. He wanted more for it than I could afford, but a subtle Confundus charm convinced him to negotiate it into my price range."

"That sounds like stealing," said Draco, but he wasn't admonishing her. On the contrary, he was impressed.

"I hardly think liberating it from a criminal for a price and subsequently returning it to its rightful owners should be considered stealing," she said indignantly, sitting up a little straighter, her chin jutted out. Draco laughed.

"I appreciate it. There's a glass cabinet in the library full of heirlooms where it would fit perfectly. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Well..." She sipped the last of her tea. "It's getting late and I have work in the morning, so..."

"I'll walk you to the gate," he offered. They headed into the hall to retrieve her coat and other winter things, which were, of course, now warm and dry. He pulled on his father's favorite old traveling cloak as she bundled up. Outside on the front path she slipped on a patch of ice and he caught her. This gave him a good reason to insist upon walking arm-in-arm the rest of the way... for safety.

"Thank you for having me over, Draco." She leaned back against the wrought iron gate just outside the apparition point. "You did well with the dessert. You're doing well... in general. I hope you don't take offense to this, but I'm proud of you."

"It's because of you I'm doing well," he said, trying to suppress the nagging feeling he was about to make a terrible mistake, but unable to stop a cliché from tumbling out of his mouth: "You've made me a better person."

"You've done all the work. You don't need me."

"Trust me..." He leaned closer, wondering whether she'd slap him if he pressed his lips to hers. "I need you."

Upstairs in the master bedroom, Narcissa said goodbye to Severus, who'd stayed much longer than necessary, but she appreciated his company, especially as he didn't complain when she wanted to show him her favorite album featuring photographs of her and Lucius when they were young, the same ones she'd just been through with Draco earlier. Severus was his usual reserved self, but he listened patiently to her stories and gave confirmation whenever she asked him to validate her views of Lucius as a decent human being, and he even got fired up once when speaking of the horrible sensationalism spat out by the Daily Prophet in place of real and accurate news, which got her feeling more energized than she had in months, as she very nearly contemplated dressing and heading to their headquarters to tell off the editor (he talked her out of it). She stood by the far window in the dark, watching the path, expecting to see him departing, but what she saw instead was her son wearing his father's traveling cloak, walking arm-in-arm with that Hermione Granger (Gryffindor Princess, brains of the Golden Trio, his Ministry-appointed Mudblood Mentor). She watched them slip and stop and chat by the gate. (She couldn't hear them, but she was sure they weren't standing there in silence.) And then she watched, simply stunned, as her handsome Pureblood son, the spitting image of his father, gently cupped the frizzy-haired Muggle-born brunette's cheek, leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.

All at once, three very different emotions overwhelmed her.

Confusion.

Why was he kissing this girl? He'd never even given any indication he liked her, save for reminding his mother her name was not "The Mudblood."

Comfort.

She obviously hadn't been any great help to her son during his own grieving process, and it was nice to know he was apparently not as isolated and lonesome as she was.

Jealousy.

She felt the way Lucius had always teased her about feeling when women would make advances toward him right in front of her. She felt envious and resentful and petty and... and... and _wicked._

What a terrible thing, to feel jealous of her own child, her only child, simply because it appeared he'd spent the last few months finding someone while she languished in loss. But there it was, jealousy, mixed with confusion and comfort.

She shut the drapes, unable to watch for another second, and Accioed over a bottle of wine. In under an hour, she'd be good and drunk and could forget it had even been Christmas.


	7. Hysterics

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN:**

 **HYSTERICS**

On New Year's Day, 1999, Draco felt lighter and happier than he had in months. No, _years._ He was only twenty-four hours away from... well, who knew what would happen in twenty-four hours, but whatever it was it had to be better than the last twenty-four. And the twenty-four before that. And the twenty-four before that twenty-four and so on and so on.

He felt a little like his mother today, lounging in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying a single memory over and over again in his head, but unlike his mother, it was not a memory that left him feeling further depressed and alone. Quite the opposite.

When he'd kissed Hermione by the gate on Christmas day, there had been a pause as she hadn't reacted, and he'd nearly pulled back expecting a slap, but then there it was: pressure. Pressure against his lips, because she was kissing him back. And, like an old cliché, his heart skipped several beats, leaving him feeling like it had been going for a walk in his chest only to trip, stumble, and have to make up the steps to catch up.

It wasn't the most interesting or passionate kiss. No tongues battled for supremacy or any of that romance novel rubbish, their lips didn't even part, and no hands wandered. But he'd done it and she'd let him and she didn't seem upset.

"I can't do this, Draco," she said once they'd parted. Now his heart winced, but he managed to keep his face from doing the same. "You're my Mentee. There are strict rules. I could get fired, you could get kicked off the program, we..."

"It's fine!" He backed away, hands held up as if in surrender. "I don't know what came over me. Christmas, you know. But..."

"But!" she interjected. "Your program ends in one week. On the first I will write up my report, in which I can give my recommendation to the Wizengamot. I'll have four choices. I can recommend another six months, another three months, a reassessment by another Mentor – that's for if I think the program hasn't helped you – or a certification of completion."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, if you continue to do well with the program as you have these last six months, in eight days you'll no longer be my Mentee." She raised both eyebrows pointedly and he almost laughed. Why did she need to hint at him rather than spelling it out? It wasn't as if anyone from the Ministry was listening.

"Meaning?" he asked, even though he'd caught her meaning. He just wanted to hear her say it.

"Meaning?! Meaning if you continue doing well, as well as you have, for the next week, then... then..." Pink spots dotted her cheeks. This always amused him, the way her blush resembled strawberry-colored freckles rather than turning her whole face red. She straightened her back and looked him over in a most professional manner not befitting of the conversation as she finished in a formal tone, "If you do well for the next seven days, provided your paperwork is filed promptly the next morning and my recommendation is accepted, you may kiss me on the second of January."

"In that case," he said smoothly (at least, he hoped he sounded smooth), "Would you like to come to dinner a week from tomorrow?"

She smiled, her bright brown eyes sparkling with flecks of green and gold _(why hadn't he noticed how nice her eyes were when they were at Hogwarts? Had he truly been so blinded by her blood-status that he'd never really looked at her?)_ and nodded.

"Wait!" She held up a hand. "Will house-elves be cooking this meal?"

"For you?" He smirked. "No. I'll make it myself. But you can bring dessert."

"Alright, then." She stuck out her gloved hand and he shook it. "You have yourself a date. I mean, a deal. You have yourself a deal."

He didn't say it aloud, but he was relatively certain he had himself both a deal _and_ a date. They wished each other Happy Christmas again and she disapparated. He was halfway down the walk when he spotted Severus, sitting on a bench.

"You're welcome," the sullen-faced man drawled.

"For helping my mother?"

"For not interrupting in the middle of your attempted pick-up. I've been sitting here for several minutes, freezing my arse off."

"I was _not_ attempting to pick her up."

"No?" Severus cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused by this denial. His next words were squeaked out in a high pitch similar to that of a house-elf. _"Oh, Hermione, yes, I'll make dinner, you make dessert, then we can snog each other stupid eight days from now, that would be lovely!"_

"I don't sound like that." Draco scowled. "And why freeze your arse off, anyway? Are you not a wizard? Are you unfamiliar with warming charms?"

"Touché. Well, goodnight then." Severus stood, stretched, and started off toward the apparition point.

Draco watched him get all the way to the gate before calling to him.

"Professor?"

"Severus," the man corrected.

"Severus," called Draco. "Thank you. For helping with my mother."

"You're welcome. I'll return in a week or so." Severus pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. With the sun disappearing into the horizon, the chill was becoming unbearable. "Goodnight."

"Wait! Do you think it's terrible of me, Prof– Severus? To be... to be moving on with my life, when Father hasn't even been gone a month? It just... it feels like he's been gone longer, since he was in prison for months, and...I can't think about him all the time, as Mother does. If I did, I might go mad. Is that... is that awful?"

Severus surveyed the uncharacteristically vulnerable young man carefully before answering. "No. On the contrary, Draco, I'm _glad_ you're trying to carve out some bit of happiness for yourself. You don't want to end up like me. Or like your mother. And if your father could see you, I believe he would say the same. A month after his execution, you're asking out a famous Muggle-born genius who once hated you so much she punched you across the face, and she actually said yes?" Severus chuckled. "Having known your father as well I did, I think it's safe to say he'd be proud."

There was a loud pop, and Severus was gone.

Draco replayed this memory over and over again in his head too. Was Severus right? Would his father be proud? His father never would've wanted him to marry a Muggle-born, but this was hardly a prelude to a lifetime together. It was just dinner. And she had other qualities his father valued highly. She was attractive, intelligent, headstrong... and Lucius would like the idea of Draco conquering her, not that she was a battle to be won, but his father would likely see her that way...

It was New Year's Day and tomorrow, if all went well with his paperwork and her recommendation was accepted, he'd be having her over for dinner. And dessert.

And maybe afterward they could snog each other stupid.

Narcissa spent New Year's Day as she'd spent every day for months. Crying, drinking, eschewing food, and looking through photo albums. She _did_ manage to drag herself into the shower around midday, for which she was proud of herself, though she only did it because she was afraid Severus might stop by and shame her for the rat's nest forming in her unwashed hair. She was just completing a French braid when there was a knock at her door.

"Who is it and what do you want?"

"It's me, Mother, and clearly I want to speak with you or I'd not be knocking."

She considered levitating the wardrobe over to barricade the door, but decided she wasn't in the mood for that game today. Instead she waved her wand and called "Alohomora!"

He entered.

"Mother! You've dressed yourself!"

"Yes, Draco, darling," she said dryly. "I've been dressing myself since I was six. And I think I'm finally getting the hang of it."

"Hilarious."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me about your relationship with Father. The early years. Before you were officially courting, when he... when you first knew he liked you."

"What?" She swiveled around on the vanity stool to face him. He was still standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "You _want_ me to talk about dating your father?"

"Your marriage wasn't pre-arranged. It was the first marriage in either of your families that wasn't. He always said it was because he chose you himself."

"Yes, that's true." She transfigured a small footstool into a chair and gestured for Draco to take it. "Professor Slughorn used to have this little group, he called it the Slug Club, and your father, being a prefect and a talented Quidditch Keeper of good breeding, was a member. I was not. Slughorn tended to favor boys back then. Not in any inappropriate way, simply because they were more likely to have successful futures, and he didn't cultivate the club without purpose."

Draco sneered, not fond of Slughorn or his club, as he hadn't been been invited to join due to his father's unfortunate incarceration.

"At Christmastime my fourth year, he held a party and told the boys they could each invite a date. I had never said so much as two words to your father before – I was shy around boys – but I'd noticed him, of course. He was beautiful. Andromeda and I both fancied him. This was before she fell for that nasty Muggle-born Tonks. She and I were sitting in armchairs by the fire in the common room a week before the end of term gossiping about Bella, who was married by then but had been spotted in Hogsmeade on the arm of another man, when Lucius came over to us and said hello. Andromeda immediately made eyes at him and turned on the charm, but I couldn't even speak. He completely ignored her, though. He smiled at me and said, 'Narcissa, right?' I managed to say, 'Um, yes?' He laughed and asked, 'You sound uncertain. You _are_ Narcissa, right? Narcissa Black?' and I, being an idiot who wanted to save face, said 'Oh, you're looking for Narcissa _Black_? Why yes, I _am_ Narcissa Black. That's my name!' as if there was another Narcissa. Andromeda laughed so hard she choked on her Chocolate Frog. He merely smiled and introduced himself, as if I didn't know who he was, and told me about the party, then asked if I would accompany him. I said yes, obviously, and Andromeda immediately, without my knowledge, sent off a letter about it to Mother and Father because, as a young Pureblood woman with a preplanned future, I wasn't permitted to be dating. That petty, jealous bitch."

Though Narcissa was insulting Andromeda, she did so with a grin, clearly relishing the fact that Lucius chose her over her sister.

"Father and Mother were not upset, to our surprise. They saw this as an opportunity. See, I'd been unofficially promised to a Lestrange, same as both my sisters."

"Wait, what?" This was not a story Draco had heard before.

"Bellatrix married Rodolphus, Andromeda was to marry Rabastan, and I was to marry Reinald, the youngest. But my mother was apprehensive, which is why the betrothal was not yet set in stone."

"Why was she apprehensive?" He had no idea his uncle Rodolphus had another brother, never mind that his mother had nearly been married to him!

"He'd been expelled from Durmstrang earlier that year, for allegedly attacking a girl who spurned his advances, and he was showing signs of madness, even more so than his brothers. They're... they were... Well, you've seen the Black family tapestry. You know that inbreeding is more of a problem in some families than in others. And the Lestranges, they wanted to keep their bloodlines pure, so..." She shrugged one shoulder.

"So they married their second cousins well into madness, is what you're saying?"

"Sometimes closer than cousins." She shuddered, thinking for the first time in years what a hex she'd dodged by not marrying into that family as her sister had. "The Lestrange brothers' father and mother were uncle and niece."

Draco screwed up his face in disgust. "Reason number three-thousand-and-ten it's good Auntie Bella never had children, eh?"

"The Malfoys have never been above marrying half-bloods for precisely that reason, though it wasn't talked about. Now where was I? Oh, that's right. Your father asked me to Slughorn's party and I said yes. We danced and toasted with champagne and he kissed my hand and called me pretty but acted like a perfect gentleman, and by the time we returned to school from the Christmas holidays I'd been promised to him, officially, in a binding document signed by both our parents."

"How romantic." Draco rolled his eyes.

"It was! I adored him."

"But why? I don't want to know why you married him, I want to know why you _liked_ him. Other than being 'beautiful,'" Draco snorted. "What did you like about him? What did he do to make you like him?"

"You want to know so you can steal his moves in order to appeal to your little Mud– excuse me, your Muggle-born Mentor?"

"She has a name."

"Girl Potter."

"That's not her name."

"You know, Draco, if you're seeking to settle down, your father and I had several suitable girls in mind for you. We'd been in casual talks with Euphasia Greengrass about the possibility of a union with one of her daughters, she has four, and that Philomena Parkinson seemed intent on seeing you with her youngest daughter, Pansy..."

"Pansy and I are over and I have little interest in either of the Greengrass girls I know, and even less interest in the two who aren't even in school yet."

"I believe the youngest is a First Year this year and the other is in Second."

"Yes, that would be much better for me than Hermione." He rolled his eyes again and she very nearly used her wand to make them stick that way as punishment, as she'd often threatened when he was younger. "Hmm, let's see, should I spend my time with a woman my age who's been Mentoring me for months, or should I go ask Headmistress McGonagall if I can join the little Greengrass girl on Hogsmeade trips in a couple of years when she's old enough to go?" He pretended to consider both possibilities. "What to do, what to do?"

"Why do you like her? She's not... Draco, please don't take this the wrong way, but she's not good enough for you."

"She's..." He felt his cheeks going hot but with embarrassment or anger he wasn't quite sure. "It's not as if I'm thinking of a future with her, Mother! She's only a friend! That's all. Barely a friend, at that. Just friends."

"A friend?"

"Yes."

"Just friends?"

"Yes!"

"You know, my darling boy, I used to have friends. I had many. One of them was Zinnia Fortunato, Blaise Zabini's mother, remember her?"

"Yes, I remember."

"She and I were friends for over thirty years. She was my _closest_ friend for over thirty years. And Euphemia Rowle, there was a time in which we were good friends as well. My sisters were my friends, and in school I spent much of my time with two other girls in my year, Winnie and Sarah, whom I remained friendly with up until the start of this last war... And your father's friend's wives, those were my friends, too, my 'just friends,' as you worded it... And, you know, it's the damndest thing, Draco, in all the years I had _all those friends,_ I never _once_ felt the overwhelming desire to stick my tongue down _any_ of their throats. I suppose friendships have changed since I was your age, though. Perhaps everyone seeks a mouth-to-mouth connection with their 'just friends' these days."

"Mother..." Draco reddened further as he realized she must know he'd kissed Hermione. "You _are_ a Legilimens, aren't you?! How else could you have known...?"

"I saw you."

"You saw me?"

"Through the window."

"Through that window?" He pointed. She nodded. "Oh. Well, she didn't really kiss me back, if it matters."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry."

"I know you're lonesome, Draco, darling, but for what it's worth, I genuinely think you can do better. And besides, unless you're properly courting a woman, you shouldn't be trying to kiss one. Even then, it's ill-advised until you're married. Or, at the very least, engaged!"

"You're too bloody old-fashioned, Mother!" He quickly worked to employ Occlumency, realizing if she was indeed a Legilimens, he didn't want her intruding into his mind to see all of the things very much beyond kissing he'd done with other girls over the last few years. "I'm not interested in a formal courtship... and besides..." A devilish look overtook his pale face as he remember something his father told him years ago, when he first started secretly seeing Pansy, which they'd agreed not to tell his mother... "Are you _sure_ you've never had the desire to slip your tongue down the throat of any one of your friends?"

"What?" She picked up a half-empty bottle of wine from the vanity and uncorked it. Forgoing a glass, she took a long sip. "What are you talking about?"

Draco's Cheshire Cat grin grew. "Father says you used to throw parties here. Lavish parties, interesting parties, parties full of interesting people, at which you'd sometimes play interesting games..."

Now Narcissa was the one whose color resembled that of a tomato. She clutched the bottle between slightly trembling hands. "What did your father tell you?"

"Only that he committed to memory the image of you with your tongue down a certain 'just friend's' throat, and advised me to have similar experiences now, while I'm young, rather than waiting until I'm married when there's nothing I can do about..."

"I can't believe he told you that!" She leapt up so quickly the stool fell over backwards. She tossed the wine bottle to the bed. "Zinnia and I... we... It was... I was... it was only a party game, nothing scandalous!"

"Sounds scandalous," Draco commented off-handedly, enjoying his mother's reaction, as she sputtered and stuttered and found herself unable to form a proper sentence. "A bit hypocritical, too. Tell me, were you and Zinnia Zabini properly courting at the time, or...?"

"We... I... she... it wasn't... that's different... I..."

"Did you have a snog with any other women at these parties, Mother? Did Father? If _you_ did and _he_ didn't, well, I suppose that would mean _you've_ had that mouth-to-mouth connection with more women than he did..."

"I... no... we... but... What did he tell you, exactly?"

"He told me all about it. Everything!" Draco lied. In truth, his father had given him precious few details, which suited him fine as he hadn't wanted to know more at the time; at fourteen, the thought of his mother kissing Blaise's mother, even though it had happened a decade before, was thoroughly disgusting. It wasn't much less so now, but he was over the initial shock enough to feel it was worth having the knowledge if only as a method to torture her. "Father said he wanted me to know _everything,_ so I could make the best decisions in my future..."

"That... that... that fucking _fucker_! Why would he...? How could he...? But did he...?" She let out a little shriek. "That was private!"

"For months now, all I've heard from you is what a wonderful and perfect person Father was, and now he's a fucking fucker?" Draco couldn't hold back his laughter. Soon he was so overcome by sniggers he was doubled-over, holding his aching sides, while she continued to rant about how she was sure Lucius embellished, it had been nothing, and it was only a party game.

"He's fucking lucky he's dead!" she exclaimed. "If he weren't, I'd kill him!"

This brought Draco down to his hands and knees on the shiny wood floor. He wiped away tears, literal tears, though the thought crossed his mind that the stress of the last few months might be contributing to his hysterics. Surely it wasn't _that_ funny... was it?

"You find this bloody amusing!" She pointed at him accusatorily. He, still on the floor, nodded, and tried to respond with words, but all that came out was a snort and a wheeze. Narcissa knelt on the floor beside him, her shock and anger abruptly dissipating, replaced by laughter. "I suppose it _is_ slightly amusing..."

"I love you, Mother," said Draco. "Even though you're old-fashioned and a blood-status bigot and an alcoholic and a hypocrite and..."

"Stop, please, darling, my self-esteem simply cannot handle all those compliments at once." She leaned back against the footboard of the bed. He joined her. She reached for a bottle of whiskey on the floor a few inches away, opened it, took a quick sip, and handed it to him. "I'll tell you how your father made me fall for him and if you want to waste his tricks on your little Mudblood, I won't mind... much."

He took the whiskey and downed a long swig, which burned the back of his throat most unpleasantly, but didn't taste as bad as the wine.

"Thank you, Mother. You're the most generous woman I know."

"Oh, Draco!" She chuckled. "If that's true, I feel terribly sorry for you."


	8. Numb

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER EIGHT:**

 **NUMB**

That first dinner went well (the fish was overcooked and the chips were undercooked, but he'd done his best, and the pudding she'd brought for dessert was excellent) and their second dinner went better (cottage pie, she loved it!) and their third dinner went even better than that (chicken tikka marsala, which his mother had most surprisingly helped make).

He felt a little silly spending so much of his time on domestic duty, but every dinner required several practice meals before he could make it for her, thus with nothing else to do he reckoned at least it was a productive way to the pass the time.

And it was worth the work if for no other reason than because she let him kiss her again after their first dinner, and again after their second, and she'd actually initiated it after their third, which led to what Severus might call "snogging each other stupid" in the sitting room opposite cups of cold tea until the grandfather clock chimed, reminding her she had a Mentee to see early the next morning.

Over the rest of January, they continued to see each other twice weekly, same as his old Mentorship schedule, the difference being that their 'sessions' started later and lasted longer. They made no attempt to define what they had or what they were, though, which was a bit frustrating for him, as she was currently the only positive in his life, and he hated the thought that she might be equally positive in the lives of others... so to speak. Not that he wanted to kick off this conversation first. He could only imagine what his father would have called him for _that._

It was the start of the second week in February when Hermione, excited about a discovery in the genealogy records in the library of Malfoy Manor, crawled into Draco's lap and laid on a smooch, which led to the two of them on the floor in front of the fire, finally kissing the way they do in romance novels – parting lips, wandering hands, battling tongues, the whole clichéd package. He made no attempt to undress her, or even to slip his hand up her blouse, though he wanted to, but he'd nearly lost it when she pulled him on top of her, her hands under his arms against the backs of his shoulders, his on her left hip and under her head like a pillow. He was certain she could feel the effect she had on him and judging by the way she moaned when he thrust against her, he was having a similar impact. She clearly wasn't the most experienced kisser; she alternated between painstakingly hesitant and awkwardly enthusiastic, and it occurred to him that this, like Wizard's Chess, was one of very few things she wasn't naturally good at – but he enjoyed the experience anyway.

Nearly two-hundred kilometers from Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, Severus Snape remained hunkered down in his Cokeworth home, rarely permitting visitors and only occasionally venturing out for food, potions ingredients, or other necessities, but he apparated at least twice per week to visit Narcissa, bringing her more salve for the burns (she was hurting herself far less frequently, but couldn't seem to manage to give up self-injury altogether yet) and forcing her to eat by reminding her that it was impolite – a mark of bad breeding, one might even say – to have a guest at suppertime and not be willing to share at least a light repast.

"You could stop visiting me at meal times," she pointed out one evening in early February.

He shrugged noncommittally.

"I am a very busy man," he lied. "I fit you into my schedule when and where I can. Can I help it if that just happens to coincide with mealtimes?"

Much of the time, during his visits, they sat in silence, chewing and sipping tea or wine, consumed by their own thoughts. Sometimes she talked about Lucius and how faithful and wonderful and loving he'd been, and Severus tried not to feel guilty about lying to her about whether the man had ever had an affair. The truth was, he'd had one, in the early nineties, one he'd quickly regretted but had difficulty escaping, as the woman threatened to expose him to his wife via the Daily Prophet if he dumped her. He ended up offering to pay her to keep quiet, and continued depositing money into her Gringotts vault until he went to Azkaban in 1996.

He reckoned there was no reason to share this information with Narcissa now, or ever, unless it became public in the future, though he would never forget Lucius coming to see him at Hogwarts, mere weeks after Draco's sorting, in a state of desperation.

"I made a horrible mistake, Severus! She was young, she promised a thrill, I was bored at home, now the chit won't let me alone!"

"Do you love her?" Severus had asked naively. Lucius laughed.

"Love her? I don't even _like_ her! I only had her to see what it would be like! You know Narcissa is the only woman I've ever..." He let out a frustrated groan. "Turning forty, that's what did it. I kept thinking, I'm nearing forty years old, and there's so much I've never done, and then there she was, all big tits and long legs and promises to do what I'd never even thought to try. But it was a mistake right from the start, and if she tells Narcissa, if Narcissa leaves me... I can't let that happen, Severus. I'd rather die than be without my wife."

No, there was no reason to share this with the grieving widow. So why couldn't Severus shake the feeling of guilt that reared up whenever she made mention of the fact that they'd only ever been with each other, that they'd each been all the other ever needed?

"Severus?" she'd asked one evening after dinner. They'd eaten leftover cottage pie, which Draco had made as practice for his next 'not a date' with his 'just a friend' Hermione. Severus set his fork down on his empty plate, which the house-elves immediately, without being seen, Vanished into the kitchen for cleaning. Narcissa waved a hand, indicating they could take hers too.

"Yes?"

"How did you get past the grief of losing your... your friend, Lily?"

"I haven't."

"You still haven't?"

"I never will."

"But surely, at some point... is it all-consuming, forever? Do you feel empty and hollow and broken and numb forever?"

"No. You start to feel other things again, eventually. For me, the second rise of the Dark Lord was oddly therapeutic. I was able to focus my energy on the war. Having a goal helped, especially as my success would mean his destruction."

"So if I want to feel again, instead of hurting myself, I should be working to take down those who killed him?"

"I'm not saying you should storm the Ministry, Narcissa, but yes, a goal may help you. You could join your son and his ex-Mentor in their quest to see the death penalty abolished."

"Or I could commit a series of terrible crimes, carefully setting up each of those who voted in favor for his execution to take the fall, then sit back and watch each of them meet the same unfortunate end he did, knowing their families will suffer as I have."

He smirked. "This is why you're a Slytherin, Narcissa. A Hufflepuff would've just joined up with the protesters."

"Fuck protesting," she said, stabbing the table with her knife. "I want to see them suffer."

Though Narcissa knew she could never go through it such a plan, she found the possibility occupied her thoughts more than was probably healthy as of late. It was nice having something to focus on, mentally, besides memories of him and the fear she was an awful mother. She hardly saw her son as of late. He was always in the kitchen, practice-cooking, or in the library or sitting room with his 'friend,' or out, going Merlin-only-knows-where.

The fourteenth of February, Valentine's Day, was set to be particularly difficult. That was the day, eight months after their formal courtship began, Lucius had officially proposed to her in 1973, with a wedding set for six months later. In the days leading up to it, she withdrew even more, often refusing to see her son or Severus, drinking too much, and vomiting up what little she managed to eat.

Draco was torn. While he wanted to ask Hermione out for that evening, out on a real date, their first one, in public somewhere (but not any place overly visible, perhaps a Muggle establishment) he thought he might need to stay close to home instead. He didn't trust his mother to get through the day without a disaster.

"Plans for tomorrow?" asked Severus casually. They were standing outside Narcissa's bedroom door. They'd been knocking for several minutes but she was thus far not granting them entry, and for a change, she hadn't left the wards so weak Draco could easily disable them.

"None," Draco answered. He'd just seen Hermione for lunch and she'd asked him the same question. He got the distinct impression she was trying to gauge his interest in her, but he'd said he had to be home and she'd not said much after that.

"I'll stay here. You go out. Be young. Live your life." Severus waved his wand slowly in front of the door, attempting to discern what she was using to keep the door barricaded, since it was obviously more powerful than a wardrobe.

"She might need me."

"You go out," Severus said insistently. "You fancy Miss Granger, do you not?"

"She's a friend," said Draco. "Just as I've assured Mother, she is _only_ a friend."

"She could probably use a friend," Severus surmised. "She and Mr. Weasley split back in November. He was cheating on her."

"How do you know?" Draco was surprised by this. Hermione mentioned Harry and Ron sometimes, but always as a team. She never made any attempt to explain why she'd stopped seeing the ginger Quidditch Keeper, who'd recently been signed by the Chudley Cannons, only that they were good friends as they'd always been and nothing more.

"Molly paid me a visit last week. She said she wanted to 'check in.' I don't know why she bothered, but I suppose she feels sorry for me." He shrugged. "I don't mind a solitary existence, but to some people the very thought of preferring a life alone is absolutely unbelievable."

"And Molly Weasley told you her son cheated on Hermione?"

"She's disappointed in him. She said the fame had gone to his head but she was hoping he'd come around and win her back before it was too late, as she feels they'd be a good match. She was worried, though, that someone else would snatch the girl up before he had a chance to redeem himself." Severus said this very dryly, void of inflection or expression, as if merely relaying the weekend's projected weather. "Ah, there it is!" Severus made an odd movement with his wand and there was a loud click as whatever Narcissa had used to magically bar the door was removed. Draco turned the knob and the two men stepped inside.

Narcissa was not in her bed, as usual, but on the floor. The odd angles of her splayed limbs indicated she'd fallen, and not gracefully. She was face-down and the neck of a smashed bottle of whiskey lay by her right hand.

"Mother!" Draco rushed to her side, kneeling, and gently turned her over, his heart racing and twisting and pounding in his chest.

"Ennervate," said Severus calmly. Narcissa's eyes fluttered open, showing only the whites, and then closed again. "Aquamenti." A jet of water sprung from Severus' wand and splashed Narcissa's face. Her eyes opened again. This time she sputtered and glanced around, confused.

"You're a drunk," said Severus without an ounce of compassion. "Get up."

"Mother!" Draco tried to help her into a seated position.

"Let her do it on her own," snapped Severus. "Get up, Narcissa."

She used the footboard of the bed to pull herself up, then turned to lean against it, still seated on the floor. She pressed her palms against her temples.

"I've had enough of this." He waved his wand, Vanishing every liquor bottle from the room. "You need a shower."

"I... can't..." Her head was throbbing, positively throbbing, and she could feel bruises forming around her eyes. Had she broken her nose somehow?

"Episkey," said Severus, pointing his wand at her face. There was a sickening crack as her nose re-centered itself. Yes, it had indeed been broken. There was blood trickling from it. She tasted it on her upper lip.

"Fuck!" she swore. Her hands flew to her face as tears welled in her eyes. "Go away, Snape. I don't need you."

"You need a rehabilitation program." He squatted, grabbed her under both arms, and stood, bringing her up with him. He then scooped her up as Draco had two months ago and, also as Draco had, he carried her into the loo. He placed her in the standing shower rather than in the claw foot tub, and turned on the tap. She yelped.

"Stay there," he ordered. She shivered, though the water was not cold. "You're through with drinking, understand? It ends today. I will continue to brew potions for you, namely Dreamless Sleep, but if I find you are abusing them, I will remove them as well. You will eat twice per day, you will shower three times per week, and you will stop hurting yourself or I'll snap your damn wand. Understand?"

Draco's jaw dropped open stupidly. Though he said all of these things to his mother before, he had not actually followed through with any, nor would he, but given Severus' tone they all knew he was not merely making empty threats.

"I want to feel," she said, holding out her scarred arm, on which there were several new blisters and burns. "And then... and then... and then I don't want to feel!"

"If Lucius were here, do you think he'd let you get this way, witch?" Severus' tone was harsh, harsher than Draco had ever heard it outside a potions class. "What do you think he'd said to see you this way? Passed out, drunk, on your bedroom floor, looking like you've been practicing Fiendfyre charms on your own flesh, wasting away... what do you weigh? I've seen sick thestrals that were less bony." He grabbed the shampoo, squeezed some over the crown of her head, and placed one of her hands on top of it. "Wash your hair."

"I can't shower with you two watching me!"

"Get out, Draco."

"You get out too!" shouted Narcissa. "I don't want you here!"

"I am a better Legilimens than you are an Occlumens, Narcissa. I know what you're thinking. Not only will I not leave you alone, but I believe I'll be taking your wand and your razor with me when I leave here tonight."

Draco's mouth continued to hang open as if he were trying to catch flies in it. Narcissa's hands dropped defeatedly to her lap as her lower lip trembled. Severus leaned into the shower, ignoring the fact that his sleeves were quickly drenched, and began working the shampoo through her matted hair. She closed her eyes and let him. Draco, feeling uncomfortable, backed out of the room, leaving the door open only a crack. He sat on the edge of his mother's bed feeling as numb as she kept claiming to be.

Once they were alone in the bathroom, Severus pulled Narcissa's dress off over her head, leaving her in only a white silk slip with spaghetti straps that went to mid-thigh. She wasn't even wearing a bra or stockings; it was as if dressing herself completely was too much effort. He left her in this slip to preserve her dignity, not that she seemed to care much in the moment (and even though it quickly became see-through). He soaped up her arms and legs, not venturing too far up her thighs with the washcloth, and hands and feet, and, then, very gently, he tended to her bruised face.

"Why do you care?" she whispered as he wiped the dried blood from under her nose.

"I promised Lucius I would," he answered. The man had been his closest friend for most of his life, from the moment the Prefect had taken the unpopular, often-bullied First Year under his wing, then through both wars, and even during his incarceration, despite learning he'd been lied to about the younger man's loyalties. "Besides, he saved my life. I owe it to him to save yours."

"You think I need to be saved?"

"You don't?"

"I've never been this exposed in front of any man I wasn't married to, you know." She crossed her arms across her chest, seemingly sobered enough now to recognize her delicate state of undress.

"I feel honored," he teased. "I suppose we're even, then. I'm the only man who's seen you half-naked, and you're the only woman who's vomited on me."

"I vomited on you? When?"

"Last week. You don't remember?"

"No. Was I sick?"

"If you consider alcoholism a sickness, which I do, yes, you were. Now, on three, you're going to stand and rinse, and then we'll get you out. One... two..."

On three, he again lifted her under the arms, and let her continue holding onto him for support as he reached for her towel. He wrapped it around her like a strapless dress, tucking it under her arm. He then did his best job to wrap her hair, which wasn't easy as he'd never had to do such a thing before, and guided her into her dressing gown.

The reentered the bedroom, where Draco was waiting.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow, I'm going to ask Hermione out. On a date. A real date. In a public place. For Valentine's Day."

"That's nice, dear."

"You aren't appalled?"

"Because of her blood-status?"

"Yes."

She shook her head and flopped onto the bed beside him. Severus, standing by the door to the toilet was nonchalantly using a drying charm on his long sleeves, but listening.

"I've just been seen half-naked by a half-blood. I believe it's safe to say the old rules of propriety have been tossed entirely out the window. Now, if you wouldn't mind, get the fuck out, darling. I'd like to get dressed."

"You're charming." He kissed his mother's forehead. Severus crossed to them, removed Narcissa's wand from the side table drawer, and held it up to show her.

"I will return tomorrow night with this in hand. Surely you can manage without for twenty-four hours." He reached into his pocket and pulled out her razor, showing it to her, then slipped both back inside.

"I'm not going to hurt myself."

"I don't believe you. More importantly, _you_ don't believe you. Try to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." Severus departed without further discussion.

"Do you like her, Draco?" asked Narcissa once the former professor's footsteps had faded down the hall. "Hermione Granger? Do you genuinely like her?"

He avoided her eye, but answered honestly. "I genuinely do."

"Then I want you to go tomorrow, love. Have fun. Don't worry about me."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I'll be fine here, torturing Severus. I might break out an album of your baby pictures to punish him for taking my wand tonight. Do you think he'd prefer to see you as a newborn, or after you started to crawl? The former is ideal for telling dull stories, but the latter includes pictures of you naked in the tub. Know what, don't answer. We'll have plenty of time. I'll show him both."

"On that note," said Draco, standing. "I'll get the fuck out now, as you so politely requested."

"Good," said Narcissa. She removed the towel from her hair and began drying it. "Stay too much longer and I'll make _you_ look at those pictures of you as a baby, naked in the tub!"

* * *

 **A/N:**

Sorry to have skipped over Draco's first dinner date with Hermione, but I'd rather show them on Valentine's Day (it's pretty much the whole chapter) and didn't want to basically do the same thing back-to-back. The next chapter will also have some mildly lemony HG/DM stuff, but I don't think it will warrant higher than a T rating, though out of curiosity, if this fic does end up changed to M, would that bother anyone? It still wouldn't be super explicit like my other M fics, but I like to err on the side of caution.

 **-AL**


	9. Loss

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER NINE:**

 **LOSS**

It was probably for the best that Narcissa was without liquor, her wand, and her razor the following day, for the loss of her husband hit her hard. From the moment she woke in the morning, she could think of nothing but him, and their courtship, and their engagement, and the way he proposed. She'd known it was coming, of course, what with being betrothed, but traditionally the woman's parents would simply entertain the man's parents for the afternoon, with the couple present but largely excluded from the narrative, as a dowry was discussed and a ring was given.

Lucius hadn't like the impersonal nature of this exchange, thus he invited himself to the Black family home early one morning when he knew her parents would be out. They were always out early on the second Wednesday of the month, as were his parents, for that was when the Bancroft breakfasts were held. The Bancrofts were an old wizarding family (though, somehow, not members of the Sacred 28) who liked to flaunt their wealth and status by hosting events only for the most uppercrust of magical society. They had these breakfasts on Wednesday mornings simply because it would be difficult for anyone with a job to attend, thus it was their way of reminding the world that most of them either did not have to work, including independently wealthy Abraxas Malfoy, or were their own masters, like shrewd Orion Black. Narcissa's father owned every home in the pureblood wizarding village of Tuttles on Therronshire, where he charged high rents that denizens were happy to pay for the sheer pleasure of being able to brag that they lived there.

Narcissa was home alone when Lucius arrived. Bellatrix had been married for several years at this point, and Andromeda, having refused to wed Rabastan Lestrange, had run off with Muggle-born wizard Ted Tonks instead, with whom she was already expecting a child.

He looked handsome as ever, in a crisp blue wizard's robe under a white traveling cloak, with gold cuff-links and smoothly coiffed hair, which he was growing out. It was down to his shoulders already, neatly tied back.

"May I come in?"

She granted him entrance, of course, even though she knew her parents would be furious if they found out. She even offered him tea and scones, as a good future housewife should, though she ordered the house-elf to do the actual preparations. They settled in the parlor, mugs in hand, and chatted for several minutes before he took her tea from her hands, set it and the saucer on the table, and knelt down on both knees before her. He removed a small box from his pocket and held it out.

"This ring was my grandmother's," he said. "It has been passed down for generations, skipping from grandmother to grandson, which is why my mother does not have it. Someday, you will give it to our grandson so he can continue the tradition... if you'll marry me."

"Are you asking me to marry you?" she asked coyly, not opening the box.

"I am asking you to marry me."

"You want me to be your wife?" She smiled down at him. He placed his hands on either side of her thighs and squeezed, parting her legs so he could get closer to her, an intimate position for two people who'd not yet been permitted to kiss.

"I want you to be my wife."

She stroked his cheek gently, brushing back an escaped tendril of hair. "You want to love me forever and ever and ever?"

"I want to love you forever and ever and ever." He opened the box, which was still in her hands, and removed the silver ring. She gasped. It was stunning. Like all other things Malfoy, it had the M of the family crest emblazoned in the center. This was surrounded by a circle of small diamonds, flanked by two large emeralds. "Our family motto is engraved inside."

She checked. Sure enough, there it was.

He slipped it on her finger before kissing her palm.

"I can't wait to marry you, Lucius Malfoy," she whispered. "We'll get married and we'll live together and we'll have babies and we'll host parties and we'll never, ever fight or grow tired of each other or call each other hurtful names, and when we're very old we'll hold hands and let our hearts give out at the exact same time on the exact same day so neither of us ever has to live one moment without the other."

"I love you, Feather," he'd replied, taking her face in his hands, pulling her close as he rose, intending to kiss her the way he'd wanted to since Slughorn's Christmas party his Fifth Year...

But a loud slam made them both jump.

They scrambled to their feet and looked guiltily toward the door, where Bellatrix was removing her winter scarf, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

"Good, you're home." She glanced at Lucius but made no mention of his improper presence. She took a long drag and let the smoke out slowly. Narcissa frowned. Their parents didn't allow that in the house. "Guess what, Cissy? That traitorous twat Andromeda had her Mudblood baby this morning. It's a girl."

 _Nymphadora Tonks_

 _14 February, 1973 - 2 May, 1998_

Hermione set down the Daily Prophet and picked up her coffee. Though she was more of a tea drinker (butterbeer in the summers), she enjoyed a strong cup of coffee in the mornings, especially on weekends when she could sit in her favorite café and drink it slowly while engrossed in a good book. She had a good book in her bag, but the morning's headline had been too jarring earlier, thus she'd saved the paper for the café rather than reading it at home before she headed out. She absentmindedly nibbled her toast, occasionally dipping the corners in her coffee, and read the article printed in memory of Tonks, gone almost one year. They'd included a picture of Teddy in the arms of his grandmother, Andromeda, though it was clear by the way she was moving she'd tried to shield him from the photographer. Her face was not visible, but unfortunately, the boy's was.

Hermione was just finishing the article when someone sat down across from her. She lowered the paper expecting to have to shoo off some dodgy cretin hell-bent on conquering her (why was it all the men who'd tried to publicly pick her up post-Ron seemed to think she needed to be brow-beaten into consenting to a date? Chivalry would've taken them much farther) but to her surprise, it was Draco Malfoy in the opposite chair.

"You mentioned you come here on Saturday mornings," he said casually. "I thought I'd... pop in. Maybe have a drink."

"Good morning!" she said pleasantly. She set the paper down. He glanced at the page.

"My aunt and cousin. Second-cousin? Cousin's kid." He tapped the photograph. "I can't believe my Aunt Bellatrix murdered her own niece."

"I can." Hermione tugged subconsciously at her long sleeve, which was covering the slur on her arm. "She was a vile woman with no redeeming qualities."

"Perhaps, instead of spending nearly fifteen years in Azkaban, she should've been appointed a Ministry Mentor in 1981. Do you reckon she could have been changed?"

"I like to think we're all capable of change." Hermione glanced down at the image again, focusing on sweet-faced Teddy, who would never know his mother. She frowned. "But some people are beyond redemption and she was probably one of them."

"She did one good thing with her life." He broke off the crust from Hermione's toast and dipped it in her coffee before shoving it in his mouth. Hermione narrowed her eyes, but over his words, not his action.

"Did she? What's that?"

"She didn't reproduce."

Hermione half-smiled. "You're right. That's the one good thing she did. So, what brings you here?"

"You." He smiled in what he hoped was a charming way. It ought to be. He'd practiced it in the mirror before heading out. "I've found a sitter for my mother tonight. Would you... are you free for dinner?"

Her face broke into a wider smile and the pit of anxiousness in his gut subsided. (The possibility of being turned down in a public place had nearly stopped him from approaching her.)

"I would love that! I have a make-up appointment with Stan Shunpike today at four, but I'll be done by five, then I'll have to go home to get ready... what time were you thinking?"

"Seven-thirty?"

"Where are we meeting?"

"I..." Fuck! It was Valentine's Day and it hadn't occurred to him to make a reservation. Surely every place would be booked up by now! "I would prefer to pick you up at home. We can apparate together from there."

"Lovely! Thank you! I..." Those pink spots he liked so much were dotting her cheeks. "I'm glad you asked. I wasn't keen on spending the night alone with my cat. He's the worst romantic dinner companion you could possibly imagine. He walks across his plate, bats at the candles, and slowly pushes his wineglass off the table with one paw while staring at me."

"I can do all of that too, you know," said Draco, turning up his nose. "And _I_ can do it while making interesting conversation."

Hermione snickered as he slowly pushed her coffee mug toward the edge of the table.

They chatted awhile more, but the café was filling up and it didn't seem fair to take up a table when neither of them were eating or drinking anymore, thus they vacated the place.

"I'll pick you up at seven-fifteen," he said before they parted ways. "So we can be on time for our reservation."

"I'll be ready." She handed him the sheet of spare parchment on which she'd scribbled her address, silently hoping her flat-mate, Neville, would not yet be back from Hogsmeade, where he was meeting Luna for dinner. She liked Draco and considered him a friend (maybe more...) but she was not ready for her other friends to know... especially Harry.

Hours later, she was alone in her bedroom, save for Crookshanks, who stared at her judgmentally from his perch atop her dresser. She was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, going for subtle eyes and dramatic lips.

"He's just a friend," she said to the cat. He cocked his head to the side. "I _am_ telling you the truth! How dare you accuse me of lying, Crookshanks."

"Mrroww?"

"I know, I know, we've snogged a few times... and I can't deny he's grown on me these last eight months... His nose is kind of cute, the way it turns up, and he's got lovely eyes..."

"Mroww."

"But there are a _lot_ of young men in the world with lovely eyes and I'm certainly not attracted to any of them, am I?"

Crookshanks rolled over, exposing his belly, and shot her a pointed look that clearly meant, "Rub my belly."

"I can't now! I'm wearing black. You'll get ginger hair all over me. He'll think I spent the afternoon getting pawed at by Ron."

 _Ron._

She felt a little pang in her gut at the thought of him. Though their split had been amicable (as amicable as a split from a childish cheating git could be) she couldn't pretend it didn't hurt to learn he'd slept with at least one of his many female admirers while on the road during his first season as a professional Quidditch player while she was working for the Ministry and trying to study up on everything she'd missed when on the run during what should have been her Seventh Year.

"He's not even that good!" she'd savagely griped to Luna in a letter. "He only got signed because the war made him famous!"

She didn't actually know if that was true, since she hadn't seen him play since their split at the start of the season, but it had felt vindicating to say it.

"Mrrowwww!" mewed Crookshanks insistently, leaping from the dresser to the bed to get closer to her. He flopped onto his back again. _Belly rubs?_ When she didn't oblige him, he sprung to his feet, arched his back, and hissed.

"Don't be jealous, Crookshanks." Hermione wagged her finger at him then tugged at the hem of her dress (was it too short?) and glanced once more at her reflection. "I'm having dinner with Draco, but I'll be coming home to _you_."

"Hello!" called a voice from the hall. Hermione jumped. She hoped Neville hadn't heard her talking to the cat. "Don't mind me. I'm only stopping in! Going to meet Harry, Ron Seamus, and Dean for a few drinks, since we're all spending the night alone." Ginny, like Neville's girlfriend Luna and Dean's girlfriend Desdemona, were still in their Seventh Year at Hogwarts, thus tlhey'd been able to meet earlier but had to return to the school before dark. Seamus had just been dumped by his girlfriend, but Hermione was surprised to learn Ron would be with them. Surely he must have a girl or two waiting in the wings, ready and willing to buff his broom?

"Sounds like too much testosterone for me, but thanks!"

Neville poked his head in her room. "Wow! You look great. Going out?"

"I'm... meeting the girls."

"Which girls?"

"You know..." Hermione tried to look casual but had a feeling she failed. "All of them."

"All of them?" True to his position as the perfect co-inhabitor of this apartment she couldn't afford on her own, he accepted this ridiculousness without question. "Well, have fun!"

"Thank you. Er... when are you leaving?"

"Right now! Just had to drop off a few things. Going to Floo to Harry's and go from there." He headed toward the front room, where the faux fireplace was. (There hadn't been one in the flat, thus they'd had to transfigure it into the wall for travel purposes.) She glanced at the clock. 7:11.

"Don't let me keep you!"

"Wait!" He turned back. "I forgot my hat!"

Hermione glanced around the room, spotting it on the back of the couch. She grabbed it and shoved it into his hands. "Here's your hat, have a nice night! Goodbye!"

"It's like you're trying to be rid of me...?"

"No, don't be silly!" She tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace and prodded him toward the flames. "See you!"

With one last puzzled look in her direction, Neville stepped into the flames, called "12 Grimmauld Place," and was gone. Hermione had barely had a second to breathe before there was a knock at her door. 7:13. Draco was two minutes early.

Out on her front step, Draco checked the gold pocket-watch that had belonged to his father and grandfather. It read 7:18, but he knew it was five minutes fast, for a Malfoy is always punctual, thus all of their clocks were set slightly ahead. He was smartly dressed in Muggle attire, black pleated trousers with a moss green collared shirt, black tie, black sport jacket, nd shined shoes. Though he wore Muggle clothes most of the time, as a boy the only times he'd gotten dressed up were for wizarding parties and weddings at which he'd donned dress robes, so he felt a bit stiff, especially thanks to the tie. He wore his father's cufflinks and carried the watch, liking the feeling that Lucius was watching over him, even though the man likely would've hated seeing his son cozied up to a Muggle-born.

She opened the door, wearing a smile that looked as nervous as he felt, and he said hello.

While he genuinely thought he'd changed for the better since the war, sometimes he missed the arrogant, confident lad he'd been up until age sixteen. That young man wouldn't be worried about what some Muggle-born chit thought of him, wouldn't be worried he'd be unable to impress her, hell, wouldn't even _want_ to impress her... but the young man he was today, at eighteen, did.

"You look beautiful," he said. He meant it. Though he knew many wizards found her sort of plain and common, he liked her bushy hair (tonight sleeked back into a French braid), wide forehead, thick eyebrows, and that bump in the bridge of her nose. Tonight she was wearing red – of course, ever the Gryffindor (to be fair, he was in Slytherin green) – and black. The dress was short and more fitted than anything he'd ever seen her in, held up by thin straps, but not immodest. Her deep red lipstick matched the color of her shoes and the beaded trim around the neckline and bottom of the dress. She had her coat slung over her arm. She quickly put it on.

"Thank you. You look nice, too, but won't you be cold?"

"I've done a warming charm." He hadn't wanted anything extra weighing him down. The sport jacket would be quite enough. "Ready?"

He held out his arm. She took it. They apparated away from her doorstep, reappearing in an alley tucked away from a part of London heavily populated by Muggles. Once they'd ventured onto the main road, they were surrounded by couples, holding hands, linking arms, laughing and flirting and even kissing. Draco slipped his arm around Hermione's waist. She did not pull away.

He'd managed to get them a table at Duck & Waffle, a quirky restaurant with an eclectic menu and decent ambiance, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a nice view, by using a Confundus charm on the maitre-d' when he stopped in earlier to "check the status" of his reservation. They ordered wine and water to drink, though Draco noticed that neither he nor Hermione seemed to keen on the wine, and chose two appetizers to share, in addition to the duck and waffle dish the place was named for.

They made small talk through starters, which the menu labeled 'snacks.' They'd opted for bacon-wrapped dates and crispy polenta alongside a maple-glazed cornbread. The combination was odd, but everything tasted delicious.

"You like living with Longbottom?" Draco hadn't been thrilled on the night of their first dinner when she told him she was planning to move in with that bumbling oddball, whose previous flat-mate had recently moved out, but she'd insisted she needed the independence.

"He's great, really. I pay my half of the rent on the first, he covers the utilities, we don't bother each other, and since Luna is still at Hogwarts, I don't have to deal with giggling girls over all night, or any of that rubbish. He doesn't drink much, and he's reasonably neat, though he does tend to let his dishes sit in the sink for days before doing them. I told you, I _had_ to get out of my parent's house. They were maddening! I had a curfew of ten o'clock on weeknights and ten-thirty on weekends. I'm nineteen years old! I lived on my own for over a year while they were Obliviated! And suddenly I had to ask permission just to miss dinner."

He relayed to her the drama of the evening before.

"Snape _showered_ her. My mother. Like a child. And he scolded her and took her wand and laid out rules. It was uncomfortable. But I think it's good for her. Tough love... not that there's love there, but you know what I mean. This morning, she got out of bed and dressed and ate breakfast without me having to say a damn thing, and when he arrived this evening she was sitting in the parlor, reading, having already told the house-elves what to make for dinner."

Conversation during dinner became a bit more intimate.

"I can't say I'm sorry we broke it off. We were never right for each other, better to have realized that a few months in rather than a few years in, but I can't pretend it didn't impact my self-esteem to know he was running around with other girls." She poked at her duck egg with her fork. It was delectable, but admitting this vulnerability affected her appetite.

During dessert, even he opened up.

"It's not that I don't miss my father like she does." He ran his finger along the edge of his wineglass, which was finally nearing empty. "But I can't dwell on him all the time. I can't even think about it, about him, too much. I don't want to fall apart as she has. One of us has to hold it together!"

After dinner, they walked to a nearby pub where a man was playing piano and a woman was lounging on top of it, singing, and when they got sick of that, they agreed to head back to Malfoy Manor.

This made Hermione even more nervous than she'd been before his arrival. They'd had a nice evening, better than nice, actually, but what would he be expecting of her now? A kiss? Several kisses? More? How much more?

When they entered the Manor, he listened for signs of life. Hearing none, he wondered whether he should check on his mother, but no – Severus had promised to stay with her until Draco relieved him. He hoped this meant he was willing to stay until well after midnight, as it was already past eleven. He wanted to take Hermione to his bedroom, to do with her what he hadn't done with anyone since April of the year before, but he could sense her apprehension, thus they settled in her favorite room – the library.

They sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, books on wizarding genealogy spread out around them, but talking, not researching. The candle on the round table behind them burnt out, leaving the room lit only by the crackling fire. She glanced at him and, blushing, looked quickly away. He, feeling bold, placed his hand on her upper thigh, and slid closer to her.

"You realize that I'm interested in you as more than my Mentor, right?" He slipped his hand up a little higher. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she nodded. "You've tensed up like you're afraid I'll hurt you." His voice was low and smooth and calming. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you."

And then his lips were on hers and hers were pressing back against his, and before either of them stopped to process what they were doing, they were side-by-side on the carpet, facing each other, tongues and lips exploring each other's mouths and necks... The hand that had been on her upper thigh made its way to her breast... He rubbed her through the silken material of her dress, turned out by the realization she was not wearing a bra, as her trembling fingers moved to unbutton his moss green dress shirt. When she'd pushed it off his shoulders he repositioned himself over her, continuing to massage her breast, using his knee to part her legs. Her dress rode up as his hips slid between her thighs... Her fingers combed through the back of his hair, which was growing out, as he drew one of her straps down her shoulder, exposing more of her chest. He struggle to remain in control as his mouth moved south to lap at the skin now spilling over the neck of her dress. His tongue darted under the material, coming into contact with the hardened pebble he sought, and she gasped, digging her nails into the back of his neck, which hurt, but in a good way. He took this as encouragement and continued to slide the material of her dress down, exposing the right side of her chest.

"Beautiful," he murmured, before taking her entire nipple in his mouth and sucking hard.

"Oh!" she whimpered. It was a sound born of surprise and pleasure and he couldn't help wondering if no one had ever done this to her before. He groaned as she wriggled against him, arching her back. How far would she let this go?

He got the answer to his unspoken question moments later, when his free hand made its way up her thigh again, under the dress, to the side of her knickers.

"Wait! Stop!"

"What? What's wrong?" He couldn't be hurting her, if he had been, she wouldn't be clutching at his shoulders, thrusting up against him with her pelvis, her breathing ragged.

"I... I uh... I... I can't!"

"You can't what?"

"I can't... do this! I can't... I... I've not... I..."

He propped himself up on one elbow, regarding her quizzically, as she hurriedly stuffed her breast back into her dress, repositioning her strap, then pulled down on her hem to cover her upper thighs. She was beet red from the top of her forehead down past the neckline of her dress.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. She sat up, pulled on her heels and wiped her cheeks with one palm. It was difficult to discern in the dim light from the fire, but was she... crying?

"I don't understand." He'd never made a woman cry before. Well, yes, actually he had, he'd made Pansy cry when he dumped her, and he made her cry again when they slept together _after_ he dumped her and he made it clear he wasn't interested in a reconciliation, just a fuck... but he'd never made a woman cry like _this_ , by touching and snogging her and lavishing attention upon her. Truth be told, he thought he was rather good at it! And she hadn't been complaining.

"I... I'm so sorry," she said again. She stood, readjusted her dress, and backed toward the door. "I can't. I just can't."

Before he could make heads or tails of her strange behavior, she was gone.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Duck & Waffle is a real restaurant in London. I've never been there but I saw the name and loved it, then checked out the menu and loved that too. The food they ate really is on the menu, too. Maybe I'll get there someday!

 **-AL**


	10. Inspired

**A/N:**

I typically shy away from specific in-chapter **Trigger Warnings** (I dislike them as a reader), but since I haven't upgraded this from T to M yet (still debating) please be advised that this chapter features a short scene with more detailed **self-injury** than previously described. If that bothers you, please skip about 10 paragraphs down. Thx!

 **-AL**

* * *

 **STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TEN:**

 **INSPIRED**

Hermione sobbed herself to sleep on Valentine's Day, with Crookshanks curled up beside her in the double bed, batting at her hair and nuzzling against her chin. She felt ashamed of herself for getting carried away with him and further humiliated by her abrupt departure. How could she explain to him what had happened?

At Malfoy Manor, Draco struggled to sleep too. Had he done something wrong? Tried to go too far too fast? Had he scared her? Or... worse... was she simply not attracted to him? Had he been reading their relationship all wrong? Had she gone out with him on Valentine's Day to avoid spending the evening alone rather than because she considered him a potential suitor?

Suitor. The word made him cringe. Sounded too much like courtship, like something his old-fashioned mother would favor.

Speaking of his 'old-fashioned' mother, he wasn't sure how to take the sight of her in bed with Snape, which had assaulted his eyes upon entry into her bedroom that night, even though they were not in any way inappropriately engaged. She was wearing her dressing gown open over a floor-length nightdress, her graying blonde hair loose, and she looked more peaceful than he'd seen her in some time. Severus was sitting up against the headboard, his head tipped back, snoring softly. He was fully dressed save for his shoes and frock coat, and he had his hand between Narcissa's shoulder blades, giving Draco the impression the man might have been scratching her back or combing through her hair before drifting off. She even had her head on top of a pillow in his lap, her hand on his thigh. It was an intimate pose, one he didn't want to see his mother in, even though he was sure the former professor had merely been offering her a source of comfort and companionship.

Narcissa awoke on 15 February around dawn, blinking several times in confusion before understanding why she was not devastatingly alone. She felt awkward, but also touched. She couldn't believe he had stayed. The night before had been nothing short of a nightmare. After they'd looked through photo albums and had dinner in the kitchen (he refused to eat in the dining room, unable to shake the mental image of Charity Burbage being swallowed by the snake) they'd retired to the parlor for drinks.

Non-alcoholic drinks.

Sweet butterbeer in frosted mugs, which took her back to her Hogwarts days with Winnie and Sarah and Andromeda and Bellatrix. Not the ideal winter drink, but in the absence of liquor, she was happy to have it.

He'd returned her wand and her razor, they'd chatted awhile, and he'd gone – or so he said. She'd retired to her room to sleep... but sleep wouldn't come. She picked up her wand and put it down again. She'd promised him she wouldn't use it to burn herself, and she would keep that promise, not because she felt she owed him as much, but because she didn't fancy the possibility of having her wand snapped in half.

But he hadn't specifically said she couldn't use the razor...

And so she did. Tentatively at first, she nicked the skin of her thigh, just to see what would happen. A tiny trickle of blood made its way down her leg. She sat on the bed and did it a second time, slightly deeper. More blood. It didn't feel the way it felt when she burned herself. That was excruciatingly painful. This was... not. It felt oddly liberating, actually, to have this control. She could press as deeply as she wanted to, she could let only as much blood spill as she felt was necessary before healing herself, leaving only the faintest scarring, collecting the blood against a white silk handkerchief that had been his, with his initials monogrammed in the corner. There was a spot of his blood stained there, too. She remembered when it had happened, he'd cut himself on the palm with Bella's knife by mistake one afternoon and used this handkerchief to staunch the wound. Though the house-elves had done their best, they hadn't managed to get it white again, and he had thrown it furiously in a drawer never to be used in the future. She liked watching her blood, red and fresh, mingle with the stains from his, rusty brown.

When she grew bored of her right thigh, she took to her left wrist. The skin Severus had most recently healed was still raw and pink and new. She wondered, in a detached state, whether it would hurt more or less to do it here, and decided she had to know for sure. She pressed into the skin... not so bad. So she pressed a little harder... she watched the blood spill, dripping down her arm... She sank the blade in for a third satisfying time...

"The fuck are you doing?"

Severus' sharp voice had made her jump, made her drop the razor. He Accioed it away from her, hurried to the bed, and tended to her arm without awaiting an answer to his question.

"I thought you left," she said. "I told you to leave."

"I was afraid I couldn't trust you," he replied. "Clearly, I was correct. Your son and I care very much about keeping you safe and well. Why don't you give a damn about yourself?"

This is what had led to her in tears again, dampening the front of his shirt, then lashing out until she was too weak and dizzy to keep her head up. She'd ranted and sobbed and lamented and cursed and expressed her desire to die, then begged him not to tell Draco.

"I don't want him to think he's not enough for me to live for," she cried. "I don't want to hurt him."

He'd sighed and stayed with her, holding her, and not lecturing her, until both were asleep.

As of one month later, this had become a regular thing. Severus frequently sat with Narcissa, sometimes beside her bed in a chair with a book and sometimes beside her in bed with an arm around her, until she fell asleep. Then he'd slip out somewhere between midnight and morning.

Draco spent the next month ignoring this, as he couldn't stand thinking about them together, even though he knew they weren't _together_ -together. When he'd gone to Professor Snape for help, he hadn't had "Cuddle my mother so she doesn't have nightmares" in mind. But he couldn't deny it seemed to be helping. With her 44th birthday only forty-eight hours away, she was crying less, eating more, and abstaining from alcohol – though that last one was not by choice.

Draco talked about his feelings with Hermione more and more, until she was starting to feel more like a therapist than a friend, girlfriend, or even Mentor (not that she minded) thus she'd taken to reading up on psychology and grief with the hope of helping him understand not only Narcissa's, but his own.

As for her explanation of the Valentine's Day departure, she simply told him he was the first man she'd seen since Ron and she'd panicked, thinking they were moving too fast.

"I don't want to be one of those girls who falls for someone while on the rebound," she'd said. "It's better if we're just casually dating for now, and slowly see where things go."

He didn't like hearing this because as much as he valued her friendship, he was also keen to paw at and pant over her, preferably in his bed from dark until dawn, but he certainly wasn't going to pressure her into anything she wasn't ready for. Neither of them needed more stress or drama in their lives than was already present. Besides, he was a little relieved "I don't like you in that way" was not her reason, as that would have been considerably worse.

Hermione was becoming more active and vocal in a group calling themselves W.W.A.M.M., or "Wham." It had been co-founded by Neville Longbottom, George Weasley, and Angelina Johnson. The acronym stood for Witches and Wizards Against Ministry Murder. They were planning a massive rally within the Ministry for 2 May, though the date had to be kept hushed, lest they end up halted before they could demonstrate.

"Join us," said Hermione one Saturday morning in mid-March. She and Draco were having coffee and toast at the Muggle café she liked, as had become their regular thing. "We have a meeting this Wednesday at eight p.m. in a room above the Hog's Head."

He was reluctant, as he knew he would likely be unwelcome, but he agreed because she looked so damn earnest.

Which is what led to him joining fucking W.W.A.M.M.

To keep the possibility of being discovered down, they operated by having a leader (Neville), then a core group privy to most details, and then several concentric circles made up of various members unaware of the identities of all the others. Draco didn't want to tell Hermione, since she'd helped come up with this system, but he couldn't help thinking they operated exactly as the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had. At least they had badges that pinned to their clothes that only revealed their symbols when activated rather than permanent markings burned into their forearms.

Though a new member would typically not be invited to meetings with the core members straight away, Hermione was insistent, and vouched for him.

He settled at the large round table. Hermione, group secretary, explained that the table was this shape so no one person was ever at 'the head.'

"We are all equal in the center circle. Even Neville."

Draco glanced around. He knew several of those present from Hogwarts – Neville Longbottom, George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Parvati and Padma Patil, Dean Thomas, and Cho Chang – and recognized a few more from articles printed post-War, including Bill and Fleur Weasley and Sturgis Podmore, plus three people he'd never seen nor heard of before, introduced as former Order of the Phoenix members Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, and Meredith McKinnon. They had just finished saying hello when the door opened and three more came in, presumably to fill the only empty seats left at the table. An elderly woman with white hair who walked with a cane headed straight for the vacant chair beside Draco. Behind her were Neville's grandmother... and Headmistress McGonagall.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Minerva exclaimed. "A pleasant surprise to see you here."

"Good evening, Professor." He stood to shake her hand. "Hermione convinced me to come."

"I'm glad she did."

Draco sat back down and introduced himself to the witch to his left.

"Porpentina Goldstein Scamander, but call me Tina," replied the elderly witch. "You're the Malfoy boy? Met your great-grandfather Brutus once. Arrested him in New York for trafficking in dangerous dark objects. He put up a fight. Hit me in the back with a stinging hex. Still have the scars. Got him, though. He served six months before we deported him back across the pond."

This was certainly starting off swimmingly, thought Draco. At a loss for how to respond, he asked, "You're from America?"

"That's right. I was an Auror for MACUSA. Don't worry, though." She patted his arm. "I don't hold people responsible for the crimes of their relatives. My maternal grandfather was a Muggle who owned slaves. We all have ancestors whose actions we're not proud of, to say the least. Nice to meet you."

Hermione shot Draco a shake smile. He shot a similar shaky smile at Tina Scamander.

"Alright," said Hermione. "Let's call this meeting to order. Everyone sign in." She passed a piece of parchment and quill around, to which they each added their names. Once she had it back, she tapped it twice with her wand, muttering an unfamiliar incantation, then tapped it a third time, causing it to burst into blue flames and crumble into a pile of ash, which she then Vanished. "Before we discuss the details of the upcoming rally, any new business?"

"Professor McGonagall invited me to Hogwarts to guest-teach a lesson in Herbology with Professor Sprout," Neville piped up. "I'll be there next week, during which time I'll be able to check in personally with Luna to find out how the student resistance is going."

"Classes are cancelled on the second of May in memory of those lost," said Minerva. "While I do not give my permission to any student over age seventeen who wishes to travel from Hogwarts to the Ministry that morning, I have it on good authority that the fireplace in the newly repaired Room of Requirement will be connected by Floo Network to the Ministry grates for that day only – a flaw in the design that will be promptly fixed, I'm sure – and if Neville happens to share this information with Miss Lovegood while having lunch between guest teaching assignments, far be it for me to try and stop him."

"Will any professors be attending the rally, Professor?" asked Cho Chang, tapping the side of her butterbeer bottle with one long, blue-painted nail.

"I can't say. But if I _could_ say, I might suggest one of you approach Rolanda Hooch, Rubeus Hagrid, Septima Vector, or Fillius Flitwick as the date approaches. I would advise, however, that you do _not_ mention your aims to Horace Slughorn, Sybil Trelawney, Aurora Sinistra, or the aforementioned Pomona Sprout. Professors who do attend will be doing so without the blessing of the administration of Hogwarts school, though I daresay such a thing wouldn't be considered a fireable offense, as what they do in their off-time is their business."

"Good thing the Headmistress opted to cancel all classes and activities in that case, eh?" said George Weasley, grinning. "I wish Fred were here, Professor. He'd loved to have seen this subversive side of you."

"I'd hardly call valuing life 'subversive,'" Minerva said, a scolding look on her face, but a moment later her expression softened. "I wish he were here to see it, too."

" _I_ wish we could get Ron and Harry on board," Bill Weasley said, shaking his head. "Harry doesn't think anyone ought to die, he spoke out in favor of prison terms and rehabilitation over executions to both the Wizengamot and the Prophet, but he has no interest in demonstrating, and Ron..."

"Ron's a git," supplied George. "Ron and Percy. It's all about revenge for one of them and following the letter of the law for the other. You can guess who's who."

"Harry doesn't want to ruin his chances at becoming an Auror," said Hermione. "He feels he can make more of a difference from the inside than with us, and that's admirable. Ron, on the other hand, wants to focus on his Quidditch career..."

Draco hoped no one noticed the way his face reddened furiously at the mention of Ron Weasley. Clearly that ginger prat had hurt Hermione deeply for her to have pulled away from Draco the way she had. Getting cheated on must rot. Thus the youngest Weasley son could go rot too, as far as he was concerned.

"Don't make excuses for him, Hermione," said George. "He told me and Angelina straight out he's in favor of the executions. He said former Death Eaters are getting what's coming to them. He said they deserve to die."

This made Draco go even redder. His father didn't deserve to die. His mother didn't deserve this suffering ever since. He took several slow, deep breaths, and focused on sipping his butterbeer, keeping calm. He didn't want to blow up at them like Seamus Finnigan's potions cauldrons at his very first meeting.

"Let's move on," said Hermione hurriedly. "How are we doing for outer circle contacts?"

"Astoria and Daphne Greengrass are working on converting present and former Slytherins," said Cho Chang. "Padma and I had lunch with Astoria the day before yesterday, and she thinks she's making headway. A lot of them are against the executions, most, as far as she can discern, but they're afraid to stand up and speak out, as many feel they only narrowly escaped prosecution themselves. This includes the family of Vincent Crabbe."

Draco felt a pang deep in his gut. Astoria Greengrass was one of the girls his parents had considered as a possible future wife for him, and Vincent Crabbe had been one of his best friends from the time they were toddlers together. He was glad to know Astoria and one of her sisters had joined the resistance, but it still made him sick and depressed to think of Crabbe, falling into that Fiendfyre, screaming for help... help they couldn't provide.

"Astoria spoke to his mother and older sister, Victoria. Crabbe senior is in Azkaban, of course, awaiting his own execution, scheduled for 21 April," Padma added. "Astoria said they're devastated. Victoria wants to join the W.W.A.M.M. and attend the protest regardless of whether her father's stay is awarded pending appeal, but her mother says she's terrified of losing the only surviving member of their family to prison, and wants her to stay out of it."

"We've officially infiltrated the Ministry itself," said Hestia Jones. "I've got several fellow Aurors ready to walk off the job that day in a show of support. We also intend to prevent arrests of protestors, even if the Minister himself orders it. I love Kingsley..." Her voice cracked. Draco stared puzzlingly at Hermione, who mouthed 'Later.' Hestia went on. "I love Kingsley, but on this, he'd dead wrong. He said the legality of the executions was for the Wizengamot to decide, and as long as the deaths are brought about in a humane manner, he'll not intervene. But at least eight of us from my department are prepared to... to send him a message to the contrary."

"I've heard some concerns regarding the date from people who would otherwise be supporters," Dedalus Diggle chimed in. "They think it's inappropriate to do such a demonstration on the first anniversary of the Final Battle. They believe the date should be reserved for memorializing the victims and celebrating You-Know-Who's defeat. Can't say I disagree."

"But what better way to remember the victims and celebrate You-Know-Who's defeat than by reminding the wizarding world that we are not like Lord Voldemort?" countered Hermione. "Lord Voldemort, had he won, would have responded by killing off those who fought against him. Is emulating him any way to pay homage to those brave witches and wizards who fought against him throughout this second war?"

"You make good points, as usual, Miss Granger," said Diggle. "But still... the first anniversary... it's still so fresh in people's minds and hearts. Let more time pass, perhaps..."

"The tenth of December," said Draco, surprising even himself by speaking.

"Excuse me?" asked Tina Goldstein.

"That was the day my father was executed. The tenth of December. I'll never forget it. That day will never be just another day to me. It will never not be fresh in my mind or my heart." He glanced at Neville. "How do you feel about the second of November?"

Neville blanched. "That was... that's the day... your aunt..."

"She didn't kill them," said Draco, "But you must feel..."

"It's the day they died," Neville said. "The people they were died, even though they're still alive. They'll never get better. They'll never be the people they used to be."

"They wouldn't have wanted her dead," said his grandmother, Augusta. "They would have wanted her in prison. They would have loved this new Ministry rehabilitation Mentorship program. They believed hearts and minds could be changed. They always tried to find the good in everyone, no matter what. Alice even said... Once, she said..."

"She said she felt sorry for Bellatrix Lestrange," said Neville. "When she was expecting me, right Gran?"

"She said she felt sorry for her, yes," Augusta confirmed. "She said the woman was so brainwashed by her obsessive love of that maniac Voldemort, she existed only for him. She said she'd never seen anyone so pathetic, and speculated she must have had a rotten childhood to have grown up to be so easily manipulated by a man who didn't even pretend to love her back. This was after they arrested her for the first time, but she escaped before they got her to Azkaban. Early 1980."

"She didn't have a rotten childhood," said Draco, somewhat defensively. "Her childhood was fine. Her adulthood was rotten. She didn't want the boring life promised to Black and Lestrange women. Parties, children, playing the doting wife, that rubbish. She wanted excitement, passion, and power. He offered her that, and more. That's why she was the way she was."

"Whatever she wanted," said Neville quietly, "She didn't get it by torturing my parents, and yet, if they could speak, I'd bet they wouldn't have wanted her killed. Not that they'd think your mum did the wrong thing, George. And Bill."

"Even Mum says murder is not the answer," said Bill. "She wishes she'd only stunned her, let her be arrested and put on trial. She has nightmares about it. She can't believe she took a life, but in the heat of the moment, just after losing my brother, and afraid to lose my sister..." He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need to. It was interesting, though, to Draco that other mothers were having nightmares post-Battle, like his. It made sense. The woman had lost her child, after all. But he'd never really thought about it before.

"That's why we're here, isn't it?" asked Angelina Johnson. "Because murder is not the answer."

"The reason I brought up the date," started Draco, feeling a bit bolder now but hoping he didn't come across haughty, "Was because it doesn't matter to the family and friends of those lost how much time has passed, it hurt when it happened and it hurts now and it's going to hurt every year on that date, no matter how much time passes, but if we wait – if we wait until the pain of the Final Battle isn't so fresh – how many more will die in the interim?"

Several members expressed their wholehearted support of this sentiment, including Augusta Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall, and George Weasley. Hermione squeezed Draco's knee under the table. He forced himself to suppress a smile.

After that first meeting, Hermione traveled with Draco back to Malfoy Manor. They settled in the library side by side on two chairs he'd transfigured into a small couch, and discussed the group and the meeting.

"I think it's a good cause," he said. "And not only because I'm still angry my father was executed. Prison and rehabilitation make more sense than letting the Ministry kill people and pretend it's justice. I'm glad you invited me to help. What more can I do?"

Down the hall, in the Master bedroom, Narcissa was trying – and failing – to light a cigarette, with no idea what her son has been up to as of late. Severus entered unnoticed – the door was not closed all the way – and watched her for a good thirty seconds before he busted out laughing.

"You have to put it in your mouth to light it, woman. You have to inhale as you touch the flame to the tip." He walked to her, took it from her fingers, and broke it in half with one hand, then tossed the pieces on her vanity. "But I'm not going to stand here and watch you do it. You can't go from killing yourself with alcohol to killing yourself with tobacco."

"What are you doing here so late? It's nearly midnight."

"It's after midnight. I reckoned you'd still be awake, though. Happy birthday."

She tried to cock one eyebrow as he so often did, but was not adept at it. "You remembered it's my birthday?"

"I did. And I wanted to give you a gift to get you through the day." The hand behind his back switched to in front of him, revealing a bouquet of...

"Chocolate Frogs?" Laughing, she took it from him. "You made me a bouquet of Chocolate Frogs?"

"The stems are Sugar Quills. If you're going to self-medicate, do it with sweets."

"Are you trying to get me fat?"

"Yes," he answered without pause. "And I'm also hoping one of those cards has Dilys Derwent on it. She's the only former Head of Hogwarts my collection is missing."

"This is my birthday present, Severus," she replied teasingly. "If her card is here, why should I give it to you?"

He gestured toward the broken cigarette. "Because I've just saved your life again. Those'll kill you."

"Not enough reason to part with a Dilys Derwent. She's rare."

"Fine," he said. "Then if you have the card and give it to me, I'll spend the night with you."

"You'll spend the night with me anyway. You like falling asleep in a hardbacked chair beside my bed because it means an extended amount of time spent in my company."

"You flatter yourself."

She giggled, set down the 'bouquet,' removed one Frog from its 'stem,' and peeled back the wrapper.

"Oh, such a shame," she said, holding the card out to him. "Phineas Nigellus Black."

"Damn." Severus held her wrist, leaned forward, and bit the head off her frog. "He's my least favorite."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thank you for your reviews! I especially appreciate those readers who review every chapter (or nearly every chapter) as I look forward to your reactions each time. That includes purplehedgehog13, Vani12, lilikaco, HarryPGinnyW4eva, PopularCats, clarasnotlikely, and FrancineHibiscus. Also a huge thank you to my other reviewers, sassanech, mandancie, HallowRain8587, BirdsOfAFeather92, notwritten, Chelsea always, lederra, Karlie, Myrddin Emrys The Third, roon0, and Guest(s). I hope-hope-hope I didn't miss anyone (so sorry if I did!). Because I'm updating so frequently I haven't been PMing responses but I'm loving the feedback and responses and I'm taking note of any questions to make sure there's nothing I forget to answer later in the fic! Thanks again! And thanks to everyone reading, lurking, adding to Faves, and/or Following. I have a busy weekend planned but intend to update again on Monday.

 **-AL**


	11. Guilt

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN:**

 **GUILT**

As March was giving way to April, the weather was dismal, dreary and gray and wet, but at least it was finally starting to get warmer. Both Draco and Narcissa still missed Lucius and talked of him often, but they were finally able to have conversations completely unrelated to him without feeling like they were purposely avoiding his name. The Thursday before Easter Narcissa entered the kitchen as Draco was pulling his latest meal practice – lamb chops – out of the oven. She scoffed at the sight of him bent down, wearing an apron and oven mitts, like a middle class house wife.

"You're cooking for this chit again?"

"She'll be here next Friday and I thought lamb would be a nice change." He kneed the oven door closed and breathed in deeply. The chops smelled better than they looked.

"You should serve it for Easter instead. We can eat together, the four of us. I like lamb."

"Together?" He set the chops on the counter and turned to face her. She looked decent today. Showered, dressed, hair brushed. She even wore a touch of makeup. "Are you saying that you, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Queen of the Purebloods, would break bread with the Mudblood Gryffindor Princess?"

"We'd be eating lamb, not bread, and I thought you said I wasn't allowed to call her the Mudblood Gryffindor Princess anymore? I _will_ accept the title Queen of the Purebloods, though. I've always felt deserving of a royal moniker." She sat at the table, snapped her fingers, and informed the house-elf who appeared that she wanted tea. The house elf nodded, bowed, and hurried to work.

"You could make your own tea," said Draco, cutting into the lamb to check the cook. He liked his meat more on the medium side of medium rare, so he put them back in.

"I could make a lot of things if I were so inclined, but as I'm not a house-elf I'd just as soon leave the menial tasks to those that are." She placed a pack of cigarettes on the table, put one in her mouth, and lit it with her wand. Though she'd been practicing, she still coughed on the first drag. Draco rolled his eyes but ignored this.

"You know, Mother, Hermione doesn't think people should keep house-elves unless they're being properly cared for, dressed, and paid. She thinks–"

"Draco, darling, I don't mean to be rude, but I couldn't care much less what your little girlfriend thinks."

"She isn't my girlfriend, Mother. We're friends. That's all."

"Yes, I remember." Narcissa took a longer drag and blew smoke into the air, attempting a ring. Despite Severus' lecture about trading one vice for another, she figured surely this couldn't be as bad as potions and self-injury and liquor.

"You say you 'remember' as if you don't believe me."

"I believe you. If you say you and Miss Granger are 'just friends,' that must be what you are. 'Just friends' who close themselves in the library or the parlor until all hours of the evening doing Merlin-only-knows-what, right under my roof as if I'm not here, as 'just friends' are wont to do."

"You can't be serious!" He looked her over incredulously. "Mother, you're going to lecture me because my _friend_ and I spend time in the parlor and library, meanwhile you've had a man in your bedroom – _in your bed!_ – from dark until daybreak on a regular basis for the last six weeks?!"

"That's different!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Severus and I are... We're..."

"Let me guess? You're just friends?"

Her blue eyes narrowed and he shrunk back slightly, fearing he'd gone too far.

"Sorry, Mother."

 _"You_ asked him to help me through the grieving process, didn't you? And that's what he's doing. Nothing more and nothing scandalous."

"Well, Hermione is helping _me_ rejoin society as a positive and productive member, nothing more and nothing scandalous. That kiss was a... it was an experiment. A judgment error on my part. A one-time thing."

"Ah," said Narcissa. She Accioed over a mug to use as an ashtray. "You're saying she doesn't like you."

"Moth-er."

"What's wrong with her, then?" She nodded at the house-elf as it placed the tea in front of her. "Surely there must be something wrong with Miss Granger if she doesn't like you. You're a perfectly lovely boy of good breeding. You have pretty eyes and straight teeth and impeccable hygiene."

He sniggered. "Yes, that's what most witches are after, Mother. Perfectly lovely boys of good breeding who have pretty eyes, straight teeth, and impeccable hygiene. Unfortunately, Miss Hermione Granger is not like other witches. She is only attracted to perfectly repulsive boys of terrible breeding, ones with crossed eyes and crooked teeth who reek of body odor."

"You're being mean to me." She pouted at him as if hurt while simultaneously flicking ashes into the mug. "Why must you be so snarky? I only want what's best for you, and if that flat-chested frizzy-haired Muggle-born can't see how sweet and special you are–"

"Shall I have you talk to her?" He took the lamb out of the oven again and cut in again. It was cooked well enough now. "How can she do anything but fall in love with me if my mummy thinks I'm sweet and special? You know, her last boyfriend was Ronald Weasley, whose mum thought he was the human equivalent of flaming horse manure, and that's why she broke it off with him. If only _his_ mother had been willing to put in a good word..."

"He might be flaming horse manure, but you're a horse's ass."

Draco laughed. "What happened to sweet and special?"

"You were a sweet and special little boy. Now that you've grown into a man, you're a horse's ass."

Draco walked to the table, kissed her on the temple, and took the cigarette right out of her hand. He stuck it in his own mouth, sucked in, and exhaled the smoke in her direction. She coughed and waved it away.

"Give that back! It's bad for your health."

"I know." He grinned defiantly. "I've decided anything you do to self-medicate, I'm going to do as well, so I can better understand what you're going through. Thus if you intend to smoke..." He took another drag, this time letting it out through his nostrils, which made her shiver. "I shall too."

"I won't then. Put it out." She flicked the pack toward him. "Here, take them all. I'm trying to find a better way to relieve stress, but I've been doing it off and on for weeks now and it isn't really working. My sister Bella smoked you know. Before Azkaban. She started when she was maybe fifteen, sixteen. Used to sneak them up in the Astronomy Tower until Flitwick caught her and gave her six Fridays of detention. She always said she found it calming. I'm starting to think she just liked knowing it bothered our parents."

"Did Aunt Andromeda smoke?"

"No." Narcissa was slightly surprised by the question. He almost never brought up her disowned sister. "Andromeda was actually an exceptionally well-behaved girl, right up until she ran off to marry that Mud- uh... that Hufflepuff. It came as quite the shock, you know. Even _I_ didn't know she'd been dating him, and I considered myself her very best friend. It hurt, knowing she'd been keeping that from me."

"Would you have approved?" He set one of the lamb chops down in front of her, figuring they might as well eat them while they were hot rather than waiting until supper time. He set one down for himself too, then poured them both water, and used his wand to summon forks, knives, and napkins to the table.

"I don't think so. From the time my sisters and I were small, two things were impressed upon us: first, that our virtue was of the utmost importance, and second, that the only thing as important as protecting it was preserving the blood status of our family line. I remember one Christmas at Grimmauld Place when Aunt Walburga dragged us all over to the Black family tapestry and explained that those she'd blasted off were dead to the family, that they'd ceased to exist, and she promised the same would happen to each of us if ever we took up with a Muggle or promoted cross-breeding. She was a Black by birth and by marriage, don't forget"

The reminder that his great-aunt and great-uncle had been cousins made Draco shudder. He was thankful the Malfoys chose marrying half-bloods over marrying blood relatives.

"After she'd left the room, Sirius – he was perhaps six or seven at the time – touched his own name and said, 'When she does mine, I hope she burns the whole house down!' He was always an odd boy. Then Bellatrix said, 'They should've been killed rather than disowned,' and Andromeda said, 'I think the whole thing is a bit silly, to be honest' and before I knew it, they were fighting - a fifteen-year-old, a thirteen-year-old, and a six-year-old! - and little Regulus and I were ordered to pick a side. He couldn't, he just cried, but in his defense, he still had all his baby teeth. So I said, 'It doesn't matter to me what happens to those who get disowned, so long as I'm not one of them.' And that was it."

Narcissa answered a few more questions for Draco about her childhood while they ate (the lamb had turned out edible, but not amazing, thus he'd be trying again soon) but inevitably the conversation turned back toward Hermione.

"If she's just your friend, and no longer your mentor, what is it the two of you _do_ when you're together?"

"We talk. We play chess. We research magical genealogy. It's a hobby of hers. We drink tea. Really, it's nothing all that exciting, Mother. We're both bored and a bit lonely without our old school friends around, so we keep each other company. That's all."

Draco was employing Occlumency as he spoke, as he didn't want his mother to inquire about W.W.A.M.M., and he was even less keen on her finding about that Hermione had performed fellatio on him for the first time the night before while in the library. (Like kissing, he'd found her enthusiastic in this act, but presumably inexperienced... certainly no expert.) He felt the slightest twinge of guilt over having lied to his mother, but really, it was for her own good. She was better off not knowing.

In London the next afternoon, over a late lunch after back-to-back Mentoring sessions, Hermione was the one feeling a twinge of guilt.

"So you've kept seeing him even though you don't have to keep seeing him?" asked Harry. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"I'm with Harry," said Ron, speaking with a mouth full of corned beef sandwich. "Why spend more time with Malfoy than you have to?"

"He's not bad once you get to know him!" she insisted, but inwardly she was cursing herself for agreeing to this get-together. While she and Ron had agreed to put their past behind them, chalking the short-lived relationship up to the excitement of the end of the war and teenage confusion, this was not a conversation she was interested in having with him. Or with Harry, for that matter. "He's lonely since the war. He lost one of his best friends to Fiendfyre and another to prison and was shunned by two more for having defected during the Final Battle, plus his father was executed, and his mother is depressed, and so... and so he needs a friend, someone to talk to, to listen, like I did as his Mentor and like I still do! That's all!"

"Is he really reformed, though?" Harry asked skeptically, tucking into his own meal. "How can we be sure he's not lying to avoid Azkaban? He's always been good at sneaking around. You can't trust him. Remember sixth year? Those Vanishing cabinets?"

"If he'd just been lying to avoid Azkaban, wouldn't he have stopped seeing me as soon as he was released from the program?"

"So he's seeing you?" Ron sprayed bread crumbs as he spoke. Hermione made a show of picking one out of her hair, hoping he'd get the hint to chew with his mouth closed. No such luck. "You said you're just friends!"

"We _are_ just friends! But he wouldn't be seeing me as a friend if he wasn't genuinely reformed!"

Though she asked them to drop it, the topic of Malfoy came up three more times during the course of their meal, and each time, she doubled-down in her insistence that she and Malfoy were not only just friends, they were barely that, and would never be anything more.

And every time she swore it up and down and sideways and backwards, she felt more and more guilty, because the truth was, she'd now done more with Draco Malfoy than any boy she'd ever dated, and she was fairly certain they'd end up doing even more than that, and, truth be told, she liked it. She liked it, and she liked him. And though she'd told him she wanted to go slow, she couldn't deny she considered him much more than her 'just friend.'

Which meant she was lying. She was lying to her friends. Her best friends. The best friends she'd ever had.

But she _had_ to. She wasn't ready to tell them the truth, and she was sure they weren't ready to hear it either.

Thus, it was better this way.

The day before Easter, it was Narcissa's turn to battle the overwhelming unpleasantness of guilt. But it wasn't her fault! Well, not entirely her fault. Half her fault, maybe. Or thirty percent, more like. Yes, that's it. It was thirty percent her fault and the rest of the fault – and, therefore, the rest of the guilt – was entirely on _him_.

They'd spent the night together again, as was becoming more and more of a regular 'thing,' to the point that he was now sleeping at Malfoy Manor more often than he was at his home on Spinner's End. He hadn't fallen asleep in the chair beside her bed in weeks, however. He preferred sleeping beside her in the bed, on his back, with her head on his shoulder.

They weren't like a couple, though. He stayed on top of the covers, while she burrowed under them, only pushing them down far enough to free her left arm and part of her torso so she could better cling to him. She slept on the left side of the bed, Lucius' side, and he stayed to the right, as it could never feel acceptable to let him take Lucius' place, not there.

She was starting to rely on this nightly contact and found it exceedingly difficult to sleep on the nights he did not stay. She also found herself wondering, on those nights, why he'd left, what engagement could be more pressing. Was he sharing his own bed with a woman on those nights? Was he someone's lover? She wanted to ask him, but knew it was not her place. What he did in his own time was his business alone.

The morning of the day before Easter, he asked if she minded if he showered before leaving Malfoy Manor. He'd never done this before, but he explained he had an appointment at Gringotts Bank – something about getting a loan – and he wanted to look presentable.

"Do you need money?" she asked. "I'll give you money. How much do you want?"

"I don't want _your_ money," he'd replied. "I'll make my own, thank you."

"Have it your way, you stubborn mule. Enjoy your shower," she said, a touch of annoyance in her voice. He'd helped her so much over the last few months, but he refused to allow her to do anything to return the favor.

While he had the water running, she opened the last of the Chocolate Frogs from her birthday bouquet. When she peeled back the wrapper to see the card inside, the person on the front made her gasp.

"Dilys bloody Derwent!" she breathed, hugging it to her chest. He'd asked her every day whether she'd found a Dilys Derwent and every day she showed him an Albus Dumbledore or a Morgana Le Fay, a Newt Scamander or a newly printed war hero Hermione Granger.

"You should give that one to your son," Severus had said, tapping Hermione's face just before she disappeared from the frame. "Maybe he'll sleep with it under his pillow."

"Oh, is that what you would do, then?" she'd teased. "Sleep with a preferred card under your pillow? Is that the real reason you want this allegedly rare Dilys Derwent? You've been fancying her since your tenure as Headmaster, and now, without being able to see her portrait on your wall every day, you simply _must_ collect her in card form?"

"Yes, that's exactly it," he'd deadpanned. "You've caught me. I'm madly in love with former Headmistress and Healer Dilys Derwent, dead some two-hundred-thirty years. She's the reason I've never married; no living woman could ever possibly compare."

Narcissa had laughed, even though she couldn't help wondering if there was a kernel of truth in his statement – though Lily Potter, and not Dilys Derwent, was obviously the dead woman with whom no living one could compare.

With a contented sigh over finally having something she could give him in return for his kindness, she settled on the edge of her bed to eat the frog.

When he finally emerged from the loo, fully dressed, she stood, held the card behind her back, smiled coyly, and said, "I've got something you want, Severus Snape."

He looked her over from head to toe and back up again in such a discerning and yet strangely sensual way she felt her stomach flutter and wished she'd changed from her nightgown into something more... suitable for company.

"What's that?" he asked.

"This." She held up the card.

"Another Phineas Nigellus Black?"

"Guess again."

He stepped closer, squinting to see. "It's a woman, isn't it?"

"Well done! It's about time you exhibited the ability to tell the difference between men and women! Someday maybe you'll even learn where babies come from."

Ignoring her snark, he took another step closer. Now he could clearly see the image on the front of the card. He was almost close enough to grab it. "It's not... It is!"

"Indeed it is!" She kissed the back of the card. "Too bad it's mine and not yours, you poor, sad, Derwent-free man."

"I want it." Another step.

"Nope. Mine."

"You've known all along that I wanted it." Closer still.

"I know." She grinned, a Cheshire Cat grin. "I like knowing that you want it. That's what makes _me_ want it. Though I don't collect them in album like you do. I'll probably just use her as a coaster. Or sleep with her under my pill... Oh!"

He'd stepped close enough to grab her arm, which he did, and immediately she began to squirm, to keep it away from him. Without thinking about what he was doing, he tickled her side, making her release her grip on the card, but since she was now clutching his wrist when she fell over he did as well. They landed on the bed as she managed to grasp it again, trying to hold it above her head, even though she was flat on her back and his arms were longer. He lightly pinched and tickled her side, making her giggle and writhe, as his other hand closed over the card. He tickled her once more, and she released it.

"Got it!" he announced, but the high of triumph was short-lived, as both suddenly became keenly aware of their close proximity and intimate positioning, her on her back, her breathing quick and ragged, him on top of her, his chest pressing against hers, their mouths mere inches apart. They stared at each other for a long moment, both breathing heavily and yet feeling like they were hardly breathing, unable to pull away despite knowing they should.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's alright," she whispered back. He released her hand, but still did not move. She reached up to brush back his hair, her fingertips stroking his cheek. "It's alright, Severus. I think it's alright."

She pulled him closer.

She closed her eyes.

She tilted up her chin.

And then, a second later, his lips were on hers.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Since no one seems to be against it, I'll definitely be upgrading this fic to M just to be on the safe side, as there are a few future lemons, but even then it won't be anything _too_ super graphic so if you're not interested in smut it'll be easy to skip.

Thanks!

 **-AL**


	12. Progression

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWELVE:**

 **PROGRESSION**

That little kiss had quickly spiraled out of control.

His lips parted, her tongue darted in, he moaned, she sighed, and he very nearly asked her to go to bed with him - though, technically, they were already _in_ bed, but obviously she would know what he meant.

"Yes... Narcissa," he groaned into her hair before kissing below her ear. She turned her head, granting him easier access to the soft skin of her neck, then she took his hand and slid it up to her breast, wanting to be touched. _Needing_ to be touched. Her brain screamed to stop. Her body refused to comply.

His mouth met hers again in a passionate kiss, one born of longing and desire, suppressed attraction, and a vague sense of desperation. He squeezed her breast, more roughly than he meant to, which made her cry out. She arched her back wantonly and he thrust against her as again and again, their lips and tongues connected. She tasted of chocolate and still smelled of yesterday's perfume, light and flowery. He tasted of peppermint toothpaste and smelled like Lucius' shampoo... but of course he would, he'd just showered in her bathroom. This reminder of her husband stabbed her through the gut as violently as Bella's knife once sliced into Lucius' hand, thus putting an abrupt end to their shameful burst of passion.

"No!"

She pushed against his shoulders and they separated, breathless and mutually consumed by guilt. He flopped onto his back beside her, staring up at the ceiling, and waited for her to say something. Anything.

"I don't know what happened," she finally whispered.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't look at her. "I'm sorry. I _am_ sorry."

"No, it's _my_ fault. I told you... I said it was alright... but it wasn't alright. I don't know what... what I was thinking..."

"You're fragile," he said, and though she didn't like the descriptor, she didn't argue. "I took advantage. But I did _not_ intend to. It was an accident. Carried away by the moment."

"Yes... that's it. The moment. Carried away." She bit her lip and closed her eyes, willing her heartbeat to slow, cursing the ache between her legs that had begun building the moment they fell onto the bed. An involuntary reaction, for sure. She hadn't had sex in almost a year. She hadn't even... hadn't even made an effort to pleasure herself, not in all the months since her husband's execution, because even giving into a fantasy felt like being unfaithful. Clearly, her body was ready for what her heart was not, and that's why she'd responded in such a way.

"You can keep the card." It was a peace offering, a consolation prize.

"No, it's yours. It was part of your birthday present."

"I _want_ you to have it."

He shut his eyes tight, steadying himself. "Thank you. I'll use it as a coaster."

She ignored his cheek, though she appreciated his attempt to diffuse the tension. "You're welcome."

Severus shifted uncomfortably beside her, but made no attempt to get off the bed. He couldn't risk being late to his Gringotts appointment, but unfortunately his body had reacted intensely to their brief encounter. While he was not yet _visibly_ excited, he was worried if he moved too much the fabric of his pants against the attentive tip of his manhood would be enough to bring his cock to life. The last woman he'd slept with had been Charity Burbage, Muggle Studies professor, several months before she was killed in the summer of 1996. Three years is a long time to abstain, even for him.

She didn't make any attempt to get up, either. Her body continued to tingle and she was afraid if she tried to sit up she'd end up crawling on top of him and begging him to take her simply because she felt devastatingly empty, both physically and emotionally, and needed to be filled. A gnawing guilt was eating away at her insides. She felt awful not only for cheating on her poor deceased husband, but for unfairly exciting Severus. He'd been nothing but good to her and didn't deserve to be her terrible mistake.

Thus they remained there, side by side on their backs, for a good ten minutes, until he couldn't dawdle any longer lest he cost himself that loan. After he departed, she took a long bath, during which she closed her eyes, touched herself, permitted herself release... and cried.

That was over three weeks ago, and in the time since, they'd neither talked about it again nor repeated it. He'd returned to sitting in a chair by her bed, reading, until she fell asleep. They did not tease or touch each other, not even in a platonic way. It reminded her of the way she and Lucius had acted whenever in the presence of their parents while courting, purposely avoiding even the slightest hint of impropriety, which somehow only made the tension between them grow.

Around dinnertime on the last Sunday of April, Narcissa got herself up and dressed, fixed her hair, and even applied a little makeup, before gathering several galleons into a drawstring bag and heading downstairs. Considering she hadn't been outside the Manor at all in over four months and hadn't been out alone even once since the end of the war, this was to be a huge step for her. She needed at least two new dresses. All of her old ones hung on her and she hated ordering clothes via owl delivery, since she liked to try on her options and have them properly fitted. She was, therefore, headed to the designer boutique on Horizont Alley.

She was passing by the parlor when she heard voices.

 _"So that's why I... why I keep stopping you," Hermione Granger was saying. "And why I rushed out on Valentine's Day, and why I wouldn't let you undress me the other night, and why I've been insistent upon taking things slowly."_

 _"Why didn't you just tell me?" asked Draco. "I don't care that you're a virgin... though I wouldn't mind helping you lose the label."_

Narcissa rolled her eyes. As much as she loved her son, she hoped Hermione wouldn't be swayed by such a selfishly pathetic 'offer.' She pressed her body against the wall and nudged the door ajar just a little more. Angled just right, she could even see inside the room through the crack. Her son and his 'just friend' were positioned side by side on the couch, facing each other, holding hands. The girl was wearing trousers - Jeans, Narcissa thought they were called - and a red and white striped button-down collared shirt. She looked like a farmer from the waist down and a tablecloth from the waist up. Narcissa couldn't help thinking the fashion-challenged swot needed a makeover first. If they got serious about each other, perhaps she'd consent to letting Narcissa take her to that designer boutique.

 _"I'm just so afraid I won't be good at it!" Hermione exclaimed. "You know me, Draco! You know I like to succeed at everything! I need to excel right from the start, to be researched and ready before I undertake a task, so that no unexpected challenges arise to throw me off! But how can I prepare for something like that?"_

 _"I can think of a few ways." One of his hands moved to her knee._

Narcissa gagged. Her darling boy sounded like such a sleaze.

 _"How old were you when you did it for the first time? And how many girls have you been with?" Hermione halted his hand before it slipped up any higher._

Narcissa's ears perked up at this. She'd assumed her son was a virgin too, but if he was offering to teach the girl...

"What's going on?"

Narcissa jumped. Severus had come up the hall and she'd been so engrossed in the couple's conversation, she hadn't noticed. She put a finger to her lips and jerked her head toward the door.

"Ah," whispered Severus, also moving close to the crack. Dryly, he added, "We're eavesdropping on the children. What fun."

 _"Fourth year?!" Hermione exclaimed. "You can't be serious! That's so... young!"_

 _"Well, it was toward the end of fourth year," said Draco. "Over Easter break. Pansy and I both decided not to go home for the holiday so we could... you know."_

 _"How did you manage? Hogwarts has precautions in place..."_

 _"The first time, we did it in the Potions storeroom. Snape left it unlocked and we'd seen him heading off toward Hogsmeade so we knew no one would catch us. But most of the other times, we just waited until we were alone, then did it in my bed or the Astronomy Tower."_

Narcissa smacked Severus on the upper arm.

"Ow!" he winced. "What was that for?" He returned the smack.

"Ow! You can't hit me back," she hissed. "I'm a woman!"

"If you hit me, I'll hit you back."

"You deserved to be hit! Your carelessness led to the deflowering of my only son! You should have told me he was having sex."

"How should I have known?"

"You were his Head of House!"

"I didn't spend my free time skulking under students' beds... or trying to catch them fucking around in my storeroom, for that matter!"

"I blame you anyway." She smacked his bicep again before turning back toward the crack in the door.

He replied by smacking her on her bum.

She shot him a withering glare over her shoulder.

"My apologies," he whispered, hands held up as if in surrender. "I was aiming for your arm."

"With aim like that, it's no wonder you never made the House Quidditch team!"

He smirked. She resumed spying.

Now Draco and Hermione had moved even closer together, his hand was on her upper thigh, and she was cupping his face as Narcissa had recently done before being kissed by Severus. Their lips met, and the sight turned her stomach for a multitude of reasons, but primarily because she couldn't accept that her little boy might have the same... needs... that she was finding it increasingly difficult to deny. To think she had been _married_ at his age! It seemed surreal. He was practically still a baby.

 _"Why don't you stay the night?" Draco suggested quietly when they'd parted, so quietly Narcissa had to lean closer to the crack and strain her ears to hear him. "My mother rarely leaves her room; she'll have no idea."_

"You expect me to have known what was going on in the entire school with fifty kids on my caseload, but your son is confident you have no idea what goes on in your own home," Severus whispered, goading her.

"Shut it," she hissed back.

"The door? Good idea." He touched the handle, but before he could move another centimeter, she had the tip of her wand pressed again the back of his hand.

"Do it and die, half-blood."

 _"If you don't want to do it, we don't have to, but if you do..." Draco pulled Hermione into his lap, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. "I'll guide you and go slow, and I promise I'll make you feel good."_

 _"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to just stay the night and see what happens," replied Hermione thoughtfully, as if considering attempting an academic experiment. "I mean, I've gotten better at the other stuff, haven't I?"_

 _"Much better..." He kissed her again. "The last jobby you gave me was the best I've ever had."_

Narcissa went pale. (Paler than usual.) Surely they can't have been doing THAT in her home!

"We should go," Severus murmured into her ear from behind, brushing against her back with his chest. It made her shiver, having him so close to her after purposely avoiding any sort of physical contact since their... error. He placed one hand on her hip and tried to draw her back. "This is clearly a personal discussion."

"No." She tried to shrug him away. "I need to know what my son is doing..."

"You know what he's doing." Severus sneered, his patience waning. "He's talking about the last time he got sucked off by a virgin. This is _not_ a conversation they want Mummy to overhear. Let's go!"

 _"You_ go. _I_ need to make sure they decide against having sex."

"And how do you intend to do that? Charm the zipper of his trousers shut?"

"I'll charm yours shut if you keep talking. I can't hear them while I'm listening to you!"

"Go ahead and charm mine shut." The hand on her hip moved to her abdomen, pulling her even closer to him, away from the door. His voice was low, almost a growl, and his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. "I don't have any virgins trying to get in my pants."

"That's vulgar." She wrenched herself away and swiveled around to glare at him. He stepped back, crossed his arms, and stared stone-faced right back.

"What's vulgar is that you're listening in on them in the first place. That is an invasion of privacy."

"He spent thirty-nine weeks living inside my uterus. As far as I'm concerned, from the moment he was born he forfeited _any_ future expectation of privacy!"

"You're being ridiculous."

 _"Shh!" In the parlor, Hermione pressed her first two fingers to Draco's lips, which had just been coming in for a kiss. "I hear something in the hall."_

 _He listened too. Sure enough, whispers, increasing in volume, filtered in through a crack in the door. They stood and made their way quietly toward it._

"I am not being ridiculous!" Narcissa snapped.

 _Draco and Hermione could not see to whom she was speaking, but both assumed it had to be Severus._

"If you were a parent, you'd feel the same way! If his father had known, he would have–"

"His father knew!" Severus was not whispering anymore. "Lucius knew, he told me! He asked me to brew them the Potion because he didn't want his son – _your_ son – forced into marrying that obnoxious girl! I told him it wasn't appropriate for me to get involved but because he was my friend, I brewed it anyway."

"You knew? And Lucius knew? How could Lucius know and not tell me?"

"Oh, I don't know, Narcissa. Maybe he thought you'd overreact?"

"I am not overreacting!" She was no longer keeping her voice down either. "Sex is an intimate act to be committed only after two people are married! Married!"

"So you think your fourteen-year-old son ought to have gotten married?"

"I think my fourteen-year-old son ought not to have been having sex!"

 _Hermione and Draco stared at each other, their mouths gaping._

 _"How long was she standing there?" Hermione mouthed, as humiliation in the form of red splotches creeped into her face and neck._

 _Draco shrugged, looking equally horrified._

"Lucius and I didn't even kiss during our courtship!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "We'd never even been permitted a _conversation_ without a chaperone! We'd certainly never had _sex!_ We waited until our wedding night! The way it should be!"

"That's archaic!" Severus shouted. "No one gets betrothed anymore, no one has a dowry or a courtship or needs a chaperone! Young people date! They have sex! Welcome to the nineteen-nineties! Hell, welcome to the eighteen-nineties! That's when most wizarding families stopped adhering to such antiquated customs!"

"How would you know? You're a half-blood!"

"This may come as a shock, but we half-bloods study magical history too. I reckon I studied it a bit more than you did, in fact, since I actually _completed_ my education, rather than being forced out early to spend a year preparing for a future as a trophy wife!"

"I am more than a trophy wife!" Her voice cracked, her eyes filled with tears, and he immediately felt like a monster. She repeated it in a pained whisper: "I am more than a trophy wife."

"I know." He drew her into his arms. "I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, no it's true." She buried her face against his chest. "I've done nothing with my life but be a good wife and now that Lucius is gone I don't know what I am! I'm afraid I'm nothing, Severus. Without him, I am nothing!"

"You're not nothing," he murmured, stroking her hair, hating himself for having lost his head. How badly he wanted to hold her and kiss her and assure her she meant much more than nothing to him, but he knew to have such thoughts about the wife of his dead best friend was positively abhorrent.

Draco pulled the door open and crossed his arms, staring them down. "Oh, hello Mother. Evening, Professor. When you're done with... whatever this is... would you like to tell me why you were spying on us?"

Narcissa and Severus leapt apart as if forced by magic. Her cheeks went as red as Hermione's, but Severus' face immediately became void of expression.

"Evening, Draco. Hermione."

"Sir," said Hermione. She tried to meet Narcissa's eye, but found the woman wouldn't look directly at her. "Mrs. Malfoy."

"Well, Mother?"

"Yes, yes, I was eavesdropping!" Narcissa sighed as if it annoyed her to have to admit this. She grabbed Hermione by the wrist and guided her back to the parlor couch. "Miss Granger, come, sit by me."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the two wizards, a look of confusion and worry on her face. Severus and Draco followed. They took the two chairs opposite the couch, separated by a low glass table. Narcissa held both of Hermione's hands between her own.

"I know this is uncomfortable, so I'll say it straight out: You should not have sex with my son."

"Mother!"

"Quiet, Draco. Miss Granger, listen. You should not have sex with my son, and not because he's my baby, and not because you're Muggle-born and not because you were in Gryffindor. You should not have sex with my son because he's spent the last several months swearing to me that you're just friends, which either means he's lying to his own mother or he's telling the truth, and either way, it's problematic."

"I... what?" Hermione glanced at Draco and Severus.

"You don't want to have sex with a liar, do you? Of course not. If a man lies about his relationship with a woman, it must be because he's ashamed of it, and you don't want to be with a man who's ashamed of you. You deserve better. But if he's telling the truth, that's worse!"

"I... he's telling the truth, sort of, I suppose," said Hermione awkwardly, glancing at him again. "We're... friends."

"Oh, dear." Narcissa seemed genuinely pained for Hermione. "Do you want to lose your... _yourself..._ to a boy who's _just_ your friend? One who won't value you enough to – I mean, even if he's not going to _marry_ you, he should at least – and you... Don't you have a mother?"

"What?" The question almost threw her. "Yes. I do. I have a mother."

"Would _she_ want you to just hand over your virtue to a man who won't even upgrade you from 'just friends' to something that requires a bit more emotional investment and commitment?"

"I need a drink!" exclaimed Draco suddenly. "I have never before needed alcohol so badly."

"Shush, Draco. Hermione, I may call you Hermione?" (Hermione nodded.) "Hermione, let me give you some advice. As my mother used to say, 'A wizard won't buy the Bicorn if he can get the horns for free!' Understand?"

Hermione couldn't seem to remember how to close her mouth and her skin still resembled the color of a tomato, but, somehow, she managed to nod.

"Are you telling her to marry me, Mother?" Draco looked appalled, not over the prospect, but over his mother's interference into his sex life. (His _almost_ sex life.)

"No, but at the very least, she should be your girlfriend! Or is that notion too old-fashioned?" She glared daggers in Severus' direction before turning back to Hermione, gently placing two fingers under the younger witch's chin, and guiding her to make eye contact. "Dear girl, I'm sure, given our... history... and what you know of my family, you haven't much respect for me, but you should respect _yourself,_ and that means not simply falling into bed with the first perfectly lovely boy who propositions you!"

"I'm perfectly lovely again. How nice."

Narcissa silenced her son with a Look.

"It's your life and your virtue, but whatever decision you make will impact you forever. Don't do something you might regret... and if you are going to entrust him - or any man - with something so important, you should mean more than friendship to each other! Now, if you'll excuse me..." She squeezed Hermione's hand, released it, and stood. "I have to get to Horizont Alley before Blair & Bathsheba's closes. I won't be back in time for dinner."

Without awaiting a response from any of them, she tossed her hair and exited the room. They sat in silence as her heels clicked down the hall and out the front door.

"On that note..." Severus rose from the chair. "I'm afraid I have to head home to Obliviate myself so I'll forget everything I've heard since arriving here this evening."

"Could you Obliviate me before you go?" Draco asked, only half-joking.

"Certainly." Severus drew his wand and held it in front of Draco's face. Hermione, in a moment of panic, jumped up and grabbed the former professor's wrist.

"No, sir, you can't!"

"Have it your way." Severus slipped it back up his sleeve as Hermione, realizing he hadn't been serious, turned pink again. His bid them farewell and strode off in the same direction Narcissa had, out the door, down the hall, to the grounds and apparition point.

"Well, _that_ was embarrassing." Draco stood and slipped his arms around Hermione, drawing her close. She relaxed into his embrace, draping her arms around his shoulders. "But on the plus side, we now have the Manor to ourselves. I'd love it if you and my bed were to become better acquainted."

She pulled away. "Has that awful line ever worked on anyone?"

"Not yet," Draco admitted. "How about this? If you unlock your Gryffin- _door_ , I'll be happy to _Slyther_ -in."

Despite still being slightly in shock, she had to smile. "That's even worse."

"I can do better. How's this? Are you a self-sticking gnome? Because I want to pick you up and whirl you around, but I'll never let go."

Hermione snickered. "Dismal."

"Are you a professor? Because I'd like you to _teach me a lesson_. Do you work at Hogwarts? Because you could be my _head-mistress_."

"Pathetic!"

"Are you a sheath? Because I'd like to store my dagger in you. Are you the present? Because I can't get _past_ seeing you in my _future_. Are you a delicious meal? Because you make my mouth water."

She doubled over in mock-pain. "More painful than the Cruciatus!"

His self-satisfied smirk widened.

"A poem, perhaps? Gryffindors are red, Ravenclaws are blue, you make me hard as a broom, so ride me like one too! No, that's vulgar. I'll fix it: Hufflepuffs are yellow, Slytherins are green, I'd ask you to shag me, but that might seem obscene."

"Stop, stop, you're hurting me!" She collapsed onto the couch, clutching her side, giggling. He plopped down beside her.

"I'm sure I can come up with more, if you'd like."

"With lines like those, how is it possible you found not _one,_ but _two_ witches willing to shag you? Did you use a Confundus Charm on them? Because that's illegal!"

"I don't need Confundus Charms," he said haughtily. "I'm naturally charming."

Hermione snorted. "Charming. Sure."

But if she were being perfectly honest, she'd have to admit she did indeed find him charming. Yet again, she was reminded of how different he was now from the sneering, pompous, stuck-up boy from Hogwarts, the boy with a cruel streak and the arrogance of elder generations of Malfoys and Blacks all passed down to his privileged little self. She wondered whether it was the Final Battle that changed him, or being set up to die, losing his father, or being ostracized from his old friends... Or maybe, the best maybe, he'd been this charming boy all along, but before her Mentorship he hadn't been comfortable enough to show it.

"You're quiet." He nudged her.

"I was just thinking about this one time when I was walking down the street in London. A man, he was maybe thirty, thirty-five, he watched me pass by, then he said to his friend, nice and loud so I would hear, 'I'd fuck that bird until her feathers fell off.' I was offended at the time, but I have to say... your lines are worse. So much worse."

"What? Worse?" He tried to look insulted. "What does his line even mean? If you're the bird, where are your wings? What are your feathers? Your arms are your wings? The hairs on your arms are the feathers? He wanted to shag you until your arm hair fell off? Imagine all those little hairs, all over the bed when you're done!" He shuddered. "It's fine for sex to be dirty but that's just disgusting."

"I suppose, when you put it that way..."

"Trust me, Hermione," he said, jutting out his pointed chin. "I've been with two times as many partners as you have. I know sex. His line was bad."

"Trust me, Draco," she said, imitating his tone. "I've been to three times as many schools as you have. I know multiplication. And two times zero isn't two; it's zero."

"Semantics," he said dismissively.

She smiled. He reclined lengthwise on the couch and motioned for her to lay beside him. She did, resting her head on his chest.

"In all seriousness, I think your mother makes a good point."

"Please don't say that."

"Perhaps we should hold off on any further progressions until we've decided how to label ourselves."

"Let's label ourselves, then. I'll call myself Draco. You can be Hermione. There, we're labeled."

"You know that's not what I mean. I'm talking about _what_ we are, not _who_ we are."

"Fine. I'll be man and you be woman. Or I'll be wizard and you'll be witch. Fair enough?"

"Draco..."

"Oh, alright!" He pretended to be put out by her insistence, but at the same time held her tighter. "You'll be my girlfriend, then?"

"Do you _want_ me to be your girlfriend?"

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"You want me to be your girlfriend because you _really_ want me to be your girlfriend, or because you're hoping if I'm your girlfriend we can change my status from virgin to slag?"

"Don't joke about that." His tone was now entirely serious. "I know my mother thinks virginity and virtue are these big important intertwined things, but like Snape said, that's not how things are anymore. My father thought too much importance was placed on keeping the girl a virgin while making sure the boy's not one. I agree."

"What do you mean by making sure the boy's not one?"

"The summer between fourth year and fifth..." Draco paused to wave his wand, closing and locking the parlor door, then cast Muffliato in case one of them returned. "That summer, I told my father about what happened with Pansy. I wasn't sure whether he'd be proud or livid. He wasn't either. Just worried because he thought she was the sort of girl to trap a boy on purpose. I asked him when he first did it and he said his wedding night. Honestly, I thought he was lying. Then he told me once his betrothal to my mother was arranged, my grandfather brought him to a brothel..."

"A brothel?" Hermione gasped. "Like, to pay for prostitutes? Your grandfather brought your father to a brothel for prostitutes? How old was he?"

"Sixteen. Grandfather said Father had to be careful, that he couldn't get another woman up the duff or it would ruin everything, so whatever needs he had he'd see tended to there. Then Grandfather picked one, she was barely of age, to take Father's virginity. Grandfather called her a gift. He said it was time Father became a man."

"So your father cheated on your mother?"

"No. Not much, anyway. He let her do him a little..." Draco made an obscene gesture indicating fellatio. "But then he stopped her. He told me he didn't want some paid stranger; he loved my mother. So for the next three years, whenever Grandfather took him there, he'd spend an hour in a room talking with whichever girl had been hired for him, but swore he didn't shag a single one."

"Why did he tell you this?"

"Because Father said his only regret was that he didn't tell Grandfather to stuff it then tell my other grandparents to bugger off and just _date_ my mother until they were ready to be married, like normal people."

"He really loved her, then?"

"He really did." Draco sighed. "And she really loves him. I used to catch them having a snog sometimes and it always made me feel like I was going to vomit, but now that he's gone..."

"I think it's sweet that your parents waited three years to be together."

"I wouldn't wait that long." He quickly amended, I would, if I had to, if you wanted to. But I wouldn't want to wait because some stupid old rules said we have to."

She traced her fingertips lightly up and down his arm, listening to his heartbeat through his shirt. He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. He was nearly asleep when she spoke again.

"Draco? I'm still not ready to go further... but I _would_ like to be your girlfriend."


	13. Anger

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN:**

 **ANGER**

In the days leading up to the rally, Hermione and the other core members of W.W.A.M.M. communicated almost constantly. Tensions around the Ministry were running high according to sources inside, and certain members wanted to postpone, but they put it to a vote - the rally would go on as scheduled.

For one final meeting, Neville and Hermione invited everyone to their flat on the first of May. Witches and wizards crowded into the small sitting room, the elderly members on the couch, everyone else on the floor or perched on makeshift or transfigured chairs. Bill and Fleur (now visibly pregnant) arrived late. Padma took notes since Hermione was unable to keep the minutes and give her practice speech at the same time. Other speakers planned for the rally included Neville, Tina Goldstein... and Andromeda Tonks.

"My aunt's going to be speaking?" This was the first Draco had heard her name mentioned in a W.W.A.M.M. meeting. He'd had no idea she was against the executions. Frankly, it surprised him, since she'd lost her husband to a Snatcher and her daughter to his aunt. Draco reckoned Andromeda must be very different from his mother.

"It'll be interesting having her there," said Bill. He looked pointedly from Neville to Hermione. "Considering who she looks like."

"Why?" asked Draco, who'd never even seen a picture of her that didn't have her face burned off. "Who does she look like?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," answered Neville. "They could be twins."

"Andromeda was the only former Slytherin who'd agree to speak," Augusta Longbottom explained. "Most are too afraid, though at least a dozen have pledged to be there."

George grinned. "I'd give a talk, but I have something much more impressive in mind! In Fred's honor, of course."

"George wants to show off some of Weasley's Wizards Wheezes new merchandise to capture everyone's attention before we begin," said Hermione. "While the Minister, his cabinet, and the Aurors are busy trying to work out what's happening and how to stop it, we move into formation. A podium is being erected in front of that statue, the one that used to say Magic is Might. I'll go first, to explain why we're there. I'm counting on my heroine status to garner enough respect that they'll not arrest me, especially as they'll all be just returning from the morning memorial, at which several of us will be present..." She glanced at Headmistress McGonagall, who'd given permission for Hogwarts' grounds to be used for the service, partly because it would be a good way to explain the open Floo later. "And others will be conspicuously absent."

The rest of the meeting passed quickly. Several members left immediately upon its close, but George, Angelina, Dean, Cho, and Hestia Jones remained behind with Hermione, Neville, and Draco.

"Kingsley's suspicious," Hestia admitted. "He knows I'm keeping something from him. Probably thinks I'm having an affair."

This was the 'later' about which Hermione had mouthed to Draco during his first meeting. As Hestia was an Auror and Kingsley the Minister, and as there was more than a decade between them, they kept their relationship quiet, though not secret. They lived together... they just rarely appeared in public together.

"Do you reckon he'll be relieved to find out you're doing this instead?" asked Dean. He glanced at Cho, whom he'd been dating for a couple of months. "I'd be."

"Honestly?" Hestia twirled a strand of straight black hair around her index finger. "I'd be surprised if he doesn't have me arrested and fired. He used to be more concerned with doing what's right than doing what's legal – that's why he let Dumbledore escape his arrest a few years ago and why he joined the Order in the first place – but since becoming Minister, he's not the same. I think he's afraid to seem like any of his recent predecessors. He's obsessed with maintaining order by way of diplomacy. He knows the executions are wrong, but it's what the Wizengamot wants. He might be relieved to know I'm not seeing someone else, but I can't imagine we'll still be together after tomorrow..."

The pink-cheeked witch went even pinker.

"I'm not complaining about him, mind! He wants to eliminate corruption and reverse pureblood bias within the Ministry, noble causes, but he thinks it needs to be done gradually, by changing people's minds, rather than immediately, by force, whereas I think the world can't wait around for people to change, we need to change the world and let the people adjust." She shrugged one shoulder almost apologetically. "I love him, though."

"Come have a drink with us," said George. "You seem like you need it. We're going to that new place on Diagon Alley."

"Thanks, but I don't think it's safe to all be seen together. Besides, you're young. You don't want a dull, graying old witch like me around."

Draco guessed Hestia was perhaps ten years than the rest of them and didn't spot a single gray hair, but no one argued. They simply said goodnight and wished her luck for the morning.

"We ready to go?" asked Neville, returning from the kitchen, where he'd been putting away the last of the snacks. "Coming, Hermione? Er... Draco?"

"No, sorry," apologized Hermione. "I want to make it an early night. I'm worried about tomorrow. Not just the rally, but... I mean... I can't help thinking about what I was doing a year ago tonight."

"Neither can I," said Neville. "That's why we're going out for a drink."

The group headed for the door. Draco moved to follow, but Hermione tugged his elbow.

"Stay?" she mouthed. He nodded. No one seemed to question it when he didn't follow them out and within seconds, they were alone.

Back at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa was alone too, consumed by memories. The Dark Lord had been nothing short of murderous to learn that Gringotts had been broken into and Hufflepuff's Cup stolen. In a fit of fury, he'd arrived at the Manor, dragged Bellatrix into the drawing room by her hair, and cursed her repeatedly until she was shaking and sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Master!" she cried over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Narcissa, forced to stand and watch between her husband and Rodolphus, fought the urge to vomit the entire time. Carefully, subtly, Lucius reached out and took her right hand in his left. She glanced to her opposite side. She couldn't understand how her brother-in-law could seem so stoically disconnected, as if this scene didn't bother him at all. Surely he had to care at least a _little_ for his wife of almost thirty years?

"She pretended to be you! She had your wand!"

"She stole it! She stole it! She must have taken some of my hair! She must have... she must have..."

"CRUCIO!"

Bellatrix let out a shriek. She curled into the fetal position on the drawing room floor. There was blood dripping from her nose.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" hissed the Dark Lord, glaring down at the trembling, ashen-faced witch with murder in his red slitted eyes. He pointed his wand at her again. She flinched. Narcissa was sure she was about to watch her sister die. He glared stonily down at her. "Well?"

"I love you," whispered Bellatrix, breathing raggedly, as it clearly hurt to inhale. "I love you, my Lord. And I... I'll fix this. Please? I'll do anything. I'll kill the boy, I'll kill his friends, I'll kill everyone who's ever supported him! I'll kill them all for you, Master! I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you."

He lowered his wand, looking upon her with cold revulsion, clearly offended by these last three words.

"It is not for you to love me," he hissed. "Do not misunderstand your place. You are a servant, and a whore. And if you weren't also my most loyal and capable follower, I'd end your life for this."

Bellatrix bowed her head, letting her wild black curls cover her face like a curtain, but Narcissa could tell she was crying. It seemed she was most hurt by the word 'whore.' Narcissa wasn't surprised. Her sister had been giving herself to the Dark Lord since she was an eighteen-year-old newlywed. While he had never pretended to return her love, for him to regard her not as a mistress but a slag was undoubtedly as painful as the Cruciatus.

After that, he turned his wrath on the rest of them, firing Cruciatus and Killing Curses seemingly at random, repeatedly slashing the face of the goblin who'd helped the trio, then doing the same to several others. Lucius grabbed Narcissa by the hand and tried to pull her toward the door, but it slammed shut, trapping them in the drawing room. He'd shielded her behind him as the carnage continued. One Cruciatus Curse hit him square in the chest and he'd almost doubled over, but forced himself to continue standing, to protect her. She'd grabbed onto him from behind, placing her palms on his chest, and held him, her eyes closed, her face buried against his back.

When the Dark Lord finally lowered his wand, he spoke to his snake in Parseltongue, and walked barefoot through the blood staining the antique wood floors toward the locked doors, which opened seemingly of their own accord. When he reached the exit, he stopped, turned, and pointed his wand in the direction of Bellatrix again. She was cowering on the floor against the wall, trembling, her face hidden by her hair again.

"Bella!" he hissed. She stared up at him, and the combined looks of pure love and self-loathing in her heavy-lidded eyes would haunt Narcissa forever.

"Get up. Follow me."

She nodded, then, painful as it must have been, she stood, back straight, and faced him.

"Yes, my Lord."

"All of you!" He now addressed the others. Only seven, including Lucius and Narcissa, were still alive. "This ends tonight. Tonight, we take full control of the wizarding world. Tonight, we kill Harry Potter!"

Narcissa sat in the bathtub replaying this scene in her mind. She knew her sister was mad and a murderer, but she'd loved her, and she missed her. Not as much as she missed Lucius, of course, but that loss still caused the youngest Black sister pain. And guilt. For if she hadn't lied to the Dark Lord about Potter being dead, her sister might still be alive.

Alive and locked away in Azkaban until her eventual death.

Or, even more probably, executed in the same manner as Lucius.

"You're welcome, Bella," Narcissa muttered. She reached for her wand to do a heating charm on the lukewarm lavender-infused bathwater. "You're probably happier to have died. You served your master until the very end."

And, at the very end, the only death he'd reacted emotionally to had been hers. He'd screamed when Molly Weasley killed her, and was ready to avenge. So, unlike Rodolphus, perhaps he _had_ loved her sister... just a little.

If such a thing were possible.

It was nearly midnight.

Hermione glanced at the alarm clock in her bedroom.

"Seven minutes," she whispered. "This time last year..."

"I know." He couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. Not only had he not been in her bedroom before, the reality was, this time last year they were enemies, fighting on opposite sides of the deadliest single battle in Ministry history.

"I don't want to have sex tonight," she said softly, but she began unbuttoning his shirt. "If you want to spend the night, though... you're invited."

"Invited to become better acquainted with your bed?" he teased.

"If you're going to assault my ears with terrible lines like that one, never mind." Playfully, she turned him around. "There's the exit!"

He laughed, turned back, and took her hands, urging her to continue unbuttoning his shirt.

"I promise to be on my best behavior."

She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, then stepped closer to him, running her hands up his bare chest.

His hands went to her waist and they kissed, tenderly at first, but quickly building. He reached up to find the zipper in the back of her dress, tugging it slowly down, giving her ample time to object.

She didn't.

When it was completely unzipped, she allowed him to slip the sleeves down her arms, causing the dress to fall to her feet, leaving her in just a bra and a pair of tight pink shorts.

"Muggle knickers?" he asked, confused. She giggled.

"No, they're exercise shorts. I wear them under dresses in case of a draft!"

"Oh. They're... bright."

With a sprinkle of laughter, she made quick work of his belt and unbuttoned his trouser placard. The mere close proximity of her hands to his cock was enough to excite him. He groaned when her fingers brushed against the bulge. He knew she'd said no sex, but he hoped she'd be open to everything else.

"You were mean to me back in school, Draco Malfoy." She knelt on the end of her bed, facing him. "You called me terrible names."

"I was a git."

"You were a bigot."

"That too. I have no excuse. But I'm sorry." He genuinely was.

"You know, after Ron and I broke up, I vowed I would never again date anyone who'd been mean to me in the past."

"He was mean to you in the past?" Draco knelt on the bed too, climbing up behind her. They could see themselves in the mirror propped against the wall on the desk opposite the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, settling them on her waist, just below the band of her pink Muggle athletic shorts. She was a delectable sight. Brown hair swept to the side one loose braid, a smooth, pale midsection, slender hips, perfectly shaped breasts slightly spilling over the top of a virginal white bra that seemed to have been bought a size ago... if it weren't for the worried look on her face, she'd be perfect in this moment.

"At Hogwarts. I didn't see it at the time. We fought, we gave each other the silent treatment sometimes, but I thought that was normal. How young people are. It wasn't until I was being trained in the Mentorship program that I learned how dangerous it all was. He would get jealous and treat me badly, long before we were a couple, and he could be self-absorbed, always in need of building up, but never building _me_. He criticized me for trying too hard in lessons but then insisted upon copying my homework. He made fun of me for my interests, bullied me for not liking Quidditch, derisively mocked my inclusion in the Slug Club, accused me of having a 'thing' with Harry, shamed me for having snogged Viktor Krum, belittled my attempts to raise awareness of the mistreatment of house-elves..." With a sigh, she leaned back. Draco did the same, so she was resting on his thighs, though they were both still on their knees, facing the mirror.

"Last July, we were out for Harry's birthday. I went up to the bar to buy us some butterbeers and a wizard chatted me up a bit while I was waiting. He was nice. He complimented the way my earrings brought out the accented colors in my skirt. He might have been flirting, but more likely, he was gay. Either way, I just said thank you and asked about the book he was reading, that's all."

Draco slipped out from under her body. He reclined on her bed and pulled her down with him, nonverbally encouraging her to rest her head on his shoulder. On the long list of things he didn't want to think about while his cock was straining painfully against the fabric of his pants, Ron Weasley ranked right up there with Dumbledore's death, Nagini eating Professor Burbage, the entire Final Battle, and that time he walked in on his parents doing it-that-must-not-be-named. But he could sense she needed to talk and rather be as self-absorbed as he'd been raised to be (or as selfish as Ron surely was) he listened quietly, gently rubbing her back.

"The facts didn't matter to Ron. When I got back to the table, he was furious, like I'd cheated on him. He threatened to go hex the bollocks off that wizard but Harry, Ginny and I begged him not to. Then he froze me out the rest of the night, as punishment. He ruined the evening for everyone. Later he said it was just because he loved me, that's why he was jealous, that he wouldn't behave that way if he didn't care. But in my training program, I learned that sort of behavior isn't love. It wasn't love sixth year when he stopped speaking to me for kissing Krum and it wasn't love last year when he accused me and Harry of... of liking each other. And it wasn't love when he told me I should appreciate that he liked me enough to threaten to hex the bollocks off that wizard at the bar. And it wasn't love when I told him I was joining the Mentorship program and he told me it was a stupid waste of time. He thought I should travel around with him while he played Quidditch. He said if I loved him, I would want to support his dream. But what about my dreams?"

"What are your dreams, exactly?"

"To do some good in the world."

"I'd say you've achieved that much already." He propped himself up, staring into her lovely brown eyes, framed by long, dark lashes. There was hurt in those eyes at the moment. He hated to see it there. "You did good with your house-elf initiative, you did good with helping to rid the world of the Dark Lord, you did good as a Ministry Mentor – you still do – and you're doing good with W.W.A.M.M. too. All you do is good."

"It's not good enough. I wonder if it'll ever be good enough."

"For what it's worth..." He leaned down to kiss her lightly. "It's good enough for me."

"Who are you, Draco Malfoy?" she murmured, before pulling him to her for another kiss. "What are your dreams?"

"I survived several times that I shouldn't over the last two years, thanks entirely to other people, including people who hated me. Dumbledore and Snape saved me from becoming a murderer, and Snape saved me again when the Dark Lord wasn't pleased I hadn't done it myself. My aunt Bella saved me over Easter holiday, after you escaped, by telling the Dark Lord I'd correctly identified Potter straight away and wanted to summon him, but she'd hesitated before calling, otherwise he was going to torture me as he did her and the others." He ran his fingertips over the letters etched in her arm. She closed her eyes. She hated that word, hated having it permanently scarred into her skin. He lifted her arm and kissed the last letter, the d, and was glad when he released her that she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"Potter saved me twice during the Final bloody Battle, even though I didn't deserve it either time. He could've let the Fiendfyre kill me and the only person who'd still be alive to care would be my mother..." Draco's voice wavered. He hated to think of the pain this would have caused her, losing both her husband and her only child... as his aunt Andromeda had.

"Then my mother saved me, by taking me out of the Battle. We defected because she said we had to, an act that helped save me from an execution too, and then, lastly, you saved me, not only from Azkaban, but from..." His cheeks burned. Though he'd spend the last several months opening up to her as was required, he still wasn't comfortable being quite so vulnerable. "From the person I could be right now."

"So what's your dream?"

"To turn myself into a person worth all that saving."

"You're worth all that saving," she whispered. She undid the clasp of her bra, which was in the front, unlike others he'd seen, and discarded it on the floor. He slid his hand over her breast, his thumb flicking over her hardened nipple, and a moment later bent to take it in his mouth. She rubbed against his hardness with her thigh. When he paused, she spoke again, her hand on his cheek, his chest flush against hers.

"Sometimes I'm still angry at Ron," Hermione brushed back Draco's hair, getting so long now it was falling across his face. "And I'm angry for myself for ever having fallen for him. But it's good, isn't it? If I... if he... if he hadn't cheated on me, we might have stayed together for years. Gotten married, even. Had children. I could spend my whole life miserable, mothering his children and mothering him, setting my own dreams aside, abandoning my goal of making the wizarding world a better place. I suppose I should be thanking him."

Draco sneered, looking much more like the boy he'd been at school. "Why?"

"Because if he hadn't been such a... if he hadn't been the way he is, and done what he did, I might not have stuck with the Mentorship program. I wouldn't have learned all I have about healthy relationships... and I wouldn't have gotten to know you." She smiled against his shoulder as he relaxed on top of her, his erection now pressing into her hip. "You were mean to me at Hogwarts, but you treat me better now... better than I could've... I didn't know it could be this way. So I'm glad he was a git and we broke up, because I couldn't be happier than I am with you."

And then they were kissing, and touching, and undressing each other fully. He managed to push from his mind the memories of what he'd been doing a year ago as he explored and pleasured her with his fingers and – for the first time – his tongue, until she was gasping and whimpering and calling out his name, her hand fisted in his hair, her back arched and hips bucking.

When she was spent, he moved to lay beside her, kissing the corners of her lips and rubbing his thumb in slow circles against the soft skin of her bare hip, his cock now throbbing, aching for attention, desperate for release... which came almost too soon, as she took him in her mouth until he, too, was weak and contented.

They moved only to crawl under the covers (Crookshanks settled himself between them shortly thereafter, pushing his hind legs against Draco's chest in an attempt to separate them, his face nuzzling against Hermione's chin) and there, together, they spent the night, feeling safe, secure, and satiated.

A far cry from their experiences on that night exactly one year prior.

The next morning, Narcissa Malfoy refused to open the door when Severus called upon her. Not her bedroom door – the door to Malfoy Manor. She'd charmed it locked and warded the entire Manor closed to intruders.

"I can break in," he shouted through the door, though he wasn't certain he could. She was capable of powerful magic when she wanted to be. "I know you're there. I know you can hear me. Narcissa, stop it. Open the door!"

She was sitting on the floor in the hall, her back to the wall, the front door to her left. She'd been up all night, too sick to sleep. Draco hadn't come home. Since midnight, she'd been waiting for him right here, but he never came, and even though she knew it was irrational, she was afraid might never see him again.

What if he'd been attacked by families of victims, still hurting as she was, who decided to take out their anger on him? What if he spent the entire night being tied up and tortured? She'd poked about in his bedroom recently, when he wasn't in, and found a town slip of parchment with a list of names on it. The first was Neville Longbottom. Actually, it read _ville Longbo_ , but she'd pieced it together. Perhaps Draco was having troubles with this Longbottom boy? And what if the boy had gotten together a group of his friends, out for revenge? That's what Bellatrix would have done. What Bellatrix had done, actually. What she'd done to the Lestranges the first time the Dark Lord fell. She spent two days searching for them and when she found them, she used the Imperius and Cruciatus Curses on them until they were mentally and emotionally broken.

As the night wore on, other horrible thoughts assaulted her. She kept replaying the torture of her sister, and the way Bella had shrunk, defeated and irreparably damaged, when he'd called her a whore, the way they'd all watched, unable to move, as the Dark Lord walked barefoot through the blood. The devastation that met them when they entered Hogwarts' Great Hall, where the bodies of the fallen were being lined up.

Before they'd arrived at Hogwarts that night, while they were making their way to the point at which the wards would need to be broken, Bella had turned to Narcissa and said, "I'm not, you know."

"Not what?" Narcissa's thoughts were on only her son. She wasn't sure whether Bellatrix was starting a conversation or continuing one.

"A whore," said Bella. She took Narcissa's hand. "His whore or anyone else's. I am my own woman and nobody owns me. I'm with him because I want to be, because I love him."

"That's sad, Bella."

"It's not!" Bella argued, dropping her hand. "Someday – maybe after this battle, once we've won the war, once I've helped him kill the Potter boy – he's going to love me back."

" _I_ love you," Narcissa had said. Bellatrix smiled.

"Of course _you_ do. You're my baby Cissy."

The more Narcissa thought about Bellatrix, the angrier she became. Her sister truly _had_ loved that monster. She would have done anything for him. She would have killed anyone for him. Hell, she killed her own niece for him, the only child of their widowed sister. Though they'd been estranged for decades, it seemed an unimaginably cruel and completely unnecessary thing to do. She'd done it just to show him she would do anything, she would cleans the filth from their family tree, she'd turn her back even on her own blood for him.

And Narcissa was angry because if it hadn't been for Bellatrix meeting the Dark Lord and falling for him, becoming infatuated with him and insisting his message be spread and his 'Lordship' be exalted, and so it was Bella who convinced Narcissa to convert Lucius and Lucius who then recruited her cousin Evan Rosier, plus Vincent Crabbe and Severus Snape.

This was all Bellatrix's fault, really.

The more Narcissa found herself able to blame her pain on Bellatrix, the angrier she grew. She went into the drawing room, the rarely entered drawing room, and broke everything. The repaired chandelier, the picture frames, the expensive glass and gold-gilded heirlooms, the little furniture that was left... she even shredded the curtains and smashed the windows with the bronze bust of her father-n-law, Abraxas. She pictured Bellatrix on the floor, wounded and wailing, and cast curse after curse around the room, and when that wasn't satisfying enough, she destroyed what was left by hand.

By the end of her tirade, her knuckles were bruised and bloody and she was out of breath, but, for some odd reason, she felt a little better. She returned to that spot on the floor by the door to continue waiting for her son... or for the Ministry official who would come to tell her he'd been killed.

Severus waited outside for over an hour before telling her he'd return later. He'd been unable to break the new wards she'd put in place that prevented him from simply entering the home sans permission. When he returned home, he was annoyed.

Annoyed, and then angry.

At her, for these immature little fits she threw...

And at himself, for being so fucking attracted to her that he knew he'd continue to forgive these annoying little fits she threw.

He understood that she was grieving. He was too, as a matter of fact. He'd said goodbye to Lucius, his closest friend, for the last time in December. He'd witnessed the murder of his friend and colleague, Charity, the August before. He'd killed Albus Dumbledore, his mentor, the previous June. And he was still mourning Lily, gone forever as of Halloween 1981.

Worst of all, he'd been unable to do a damn thing during the Final Battle, when Tonks and Lupin and so many others lost their lives, including several of his students, kids who shouldn't have even been there. He was the Headmaster. They were his responsibility. He should have confessed to Minerva, let her in on the secret he'd been carrying around for far too long, and helped her evacuate the children.

But no.

Instead, he'd battled her – quite unwillingly – and fled into the forest, all with the hope of aiding Harry Potter in the destruction of the Dark Lord, only to nearly lose his own life... and find himself completely useless... on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He felt disgusted by his actions, both that night, and right now.

He'd started helping Narcissa in part because her son asked it, and in part because he owed it to Lucius.

But neither Draco nor Lucius had wanted him to end up lusting after her, which was surely the last thing she needed now. The last thing either of them needed.

He poured himself a drink and used his wand to light a fire. He should leave her alone. She said she wanted to be alone. He should do what she wanted.

But, as he finished his first glass or scotch and reached for the bottle to pour another, he knew he'd be back at her door, begging for entrance, before nightfall.

Two hours later, it was not Severus who came to call upon Narcissa at Malfoy Manor, but a stranger.

A woman with pink cheeks and long, straight black hair. A woman who, somehow, made it past the wards she shouldn't have been able to penetrate.

She introduced herself as Hestia Jones, Auror. "Mrs. Malfoy? May I come in?"

Narcissa scrambled to her feet. Auror?

"Draco," she whispered fearfully, pulling open the door. "Is my son...?"

"He's alive," Hestia Jones assured her.

Narcissa sighed and slunk back against the wall. Alive. Thank Merlin. She could breathe again.

The relief didn't last long.

"He's not hurt," Hestia Jones continued. "But he _is_ in Azkaban."


	14. Isolation

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN:**

 **ISOLATION**

Though it was no longer guarded by faceless Dementors, suckers of souls, destroyers of happiness, their century-long presence at Azkaban prison left a cloud of despair that permeated the air in every damp, dark cell. Unlike his mad, murderous Aunt Bellatrix, Draco was not chained from one wrist to the other to the ankles, the floor, and the wall, but he _was_ locked in by bars and without his wand. Fuck, he hoped they hadn't snapped it in two. When Bella went to prison, Narcissa had managed to take ownership of her crooked, destructive wand by claiming it was a family heirloom and therefore not technically her sister's property to be destroyed. Having money, even right after the war (while trying to convince the world they'd been bewitched) paid off, and it was relinquished to her. He doubted the same would be true of his, even though it had belonged to his grandfather, Abraxas.

Being inside these grimy stone walls, surrounded by water, listening to the wails and moans and pleas of those in other cells had a profound effect. He couldn't help feeling a little like he was drowning in the swirling liquid-like substance inside a Pensieve, as painful memories assaulted him over and over and over again. He found himself rather unable to focus on anything else.

His father rarely spoke of his first term in Azkaban, which had lasted a full year after his arrest for the Ministry break-in, except to say that he spent the entire duration sick with worry over what was happening to his wife and son on the outside.

"Tell me the truth, Draco," Lucius had begged upon his return, grasping his son by the front of his robe, shaking him. His eyes were bloodshot. He was unshaven. He looked as Draco had never before seen him – dirty, defeated, and deranged. "Please tell me they didn't rape your mother!"

"I... no! Father! They... no one touched her," Draco had said, disgusted by the mere thought. He tried in vain to wrench himself away from his father's grasp. "The Dark Lord thought setting me up to die and slowly watching me fail at my task under the threat that auntie would end up killing Mother was quite enough punishment for both of us."

"Thank Merlin," Lucius had said, releasing Draco with an exhale of deep relief that had infuriated the boy at the time. "Thank Merlin. Thank Merlin."

And suddenly all Draco could remember was how much he hated his father in that moment. _Thank Merlin?_ Thank Merlin his son had only had to endure a year of utter torment from which he'd never fully recover? Thank Merlin if it wasn't for Snape, his son would be dead? Thank Merlin it had been his son so severely punished, and not his wife? How could the man put the wellness of his wife over the literal life of his son?

But now, in his cell, bitter and deviant and dark thoughts running through his head, Draco felt perhaps he understood his father better. The man had probably spent the entire year in prison replaying in his mind over and over the mental image of the other Death Eaters taking turns with his mother, as they'd been known to do to other female victims over the years, especially during the first war. That she would be raped to punish him was probably his worst fear. Therefore learning this hadn't actually happened was probably the greatest relief Lucius ever felt, even though it came at the expense of the mental health of his son, who, to be fair, was no longer in danger by this point.

Draco ran his fingertip along an indent in the wall. He was kneeling, putting it at eye-level. He realized the indent was part of a carving. Someone had carved something here. With what, he did not know. It seemed unlikely a prisoner would have been permitted a sharp object. Perhaps a fingernail, then? Or a broken part of a chain restraint? Bellatrix had bragged that most of the prisoners did not need chains. They didn't even need bars.

"They go mad and they can't function," she'd said. "They don't even _try_ to escape. But me? I never doubted my Master would come for me, and I wanted to be ready, so I kept myself sharp. I kept my mind sharp and my magic sharp. I managed out of my chains on eight separate occasions. I managed out of my bars twice. They threatened to give me to Dementors. They struggled to keep me in. All those years, they struggled. And it paid off, didn't it? When it came time, my Master got me out, and I was ready. I was ready for him!"

There weren't even Dementors here any longer and Draco couldn't imagine having the mental might to keep his magic sharp even overnight, never mind for thirteen or fourteen years. He scraped away at the grime with his thumb, revealing more of the etchings.

They were lines. Tally marks. Someone had marked off... something. The days until their release, perhaps. He stood and felt the wall for more. Perhaps he could figure out whose cell this was. Perhaps having a goal and a purpose would keep him from continuing to wallow in the pains of the past, stop him from seeing Professor Burbage being eaten, stop him from remembering the taste of his tears when he nearly defected to Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower, stop him from cursing the whole bloody world to hell when they lowered his father into that swirling substance...

It took what felt like forever, but finally he came across lines that were connected into letters. Words. He didn't know if minutes, hours, or days went by as he worked at it, but eventually he'd scraped off enough of the grime to recognize the handwriting. The lowercase B. The crooked L. The childishly scrawled M. These were the same letters he'd kissed the night before, as they forever marred the arm of his Muggle-born girlfriend, Hermione Granger.

Yes, he knew these letters.

All in lowercase.

All carved deep into the stone.

All covered in two decades of grime.

He knew this name. Nearly as infamous as that of the Dark Lord, and nearly as feared.

He knew this name that proceeded each line that represented a day spent in prison:

 _bellatrix morgana black lestrange_

So desperate to separate herself from others and to remind the world of her blood purity and long magical line, she went through the pain of caring her entire name - first, middle, maiden, married - into the wall, where others might have settled for initials.

This meant, of course, that he was in _her_ cell. In his aunt's bloody cell. This couldn't be coincidence. The Aurors had done this on purpose. They'd done it to his father too – his father had been in this cell for a year while Draco was desperately trying to work out a plan to kill Dumbledore that wouldn't leave him feeling like murderer. They'd stuck his father in his aunt's cell and now he was here too. Just like them. A criminal.

Arrested.

The fucking dunderheads had gone and gotten themselves arrested.

At the small home on Spinner's End, the last house on a dead end road, Severus Snape tossed the Daily Prophet into his fireplace, swore, and chucked his half-full scotch glass in after it. The list of those arrested wasn't a short one, but Severus read every name twice, as if his eyes might be deceiving him the first time through.

 _Wizards and Witches Against Ministry Murder Arrested At Remembrance Day Rally!_

So that's what they'd decided to call the day the Final Battle came to a close: Remembrance Day. Seemed fitting enough. He'd certainly never forget it.

And W.W.A.M.M., called 'Wham.' He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Who came up with that stupid acronym? His galleons were on Hermione Granger, first listed on the names of those now in Azkaban. He remembered her S.P.E.W. efforts back at Hogwarts, which had caused quite a stir over tea in the staff room, with faculty taking sides over whether to force her to quash the efforts or not.

Also arrested:

Neville Longbottom, Bill Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Luna Lovegood, Fillius Flitwick – _fucking Flitwick,_ thought Severus – Dean Thomas, Parvati Patil, Padma Patil, Cho Chang...

There were a few names that surprised him.

Porpentina Goldstein Scamander, at 98, was the eldest, and Eloise Greengrass, at eleven, the youngest – though Severus hoped neither of them were carted off to prison, given their ages... Then the two oldest Greengrass girls, Astoria and Daphne, plus Blaise Zabini - that was actually no shock, once he thought about it, as the boy's father and half-brother were scheduled to be executed - and Andromeda Tonks...

"Andromeda?" Severus said aloud. If she'd been sent to Azkaban, who would care for her grandson, the baby of the Metamorph and the werewolf? Harry, he hoped, considering otherwise the kid's next of kin was Narcissa and he was certainly not up to the task of changing nappies...

And, finally, _Draco Abraxas Malfoy, 19, of Wiltshire._

"The idiotic things young people do for love," Severus muttered bitterly, going in search of his rain cloak. It was a dreary wet day and he might have to be outside awhile, begging Narcissa for entrance. He wondered whether she'd seen this yet. She hadn't responded when he'd returned last night, knocking on her door, which had worried him, but he assumed Draco was home to comfort her, and he'd left.

He shouldn't have left.

Damn it, Draco.

He never would have joined up a group called 'Wham' on his own, not even now while on his altruistic path, which, according to the Prophet article, included giving away a good amount of gold to causes helping war orphans and the rebuild of Hogwarts. Those things had been done to repair the damage done to his name as much as they were to rebrand his image and show the world he wasn't the monster they considered his father. But this? This was a step beyond.

"He must be shagging that swot now," muttered Severus, as he found the cloak at last. Truth be told, as nasty as he'd been to the girl when she was his student, he was impressed by both her intelligence and her tenacity, and couldn't help admiring her efforts to make the world a better place, no matter the negative impact it had on her socially. She could probably be as good for Draco as a girlfriend as she'd been as a Mentor... aside from getting him arrested.

Arrested.

Hermione could not believe they'd actually gotten arrested.

Arrested!

This would follow her forever, surely. She'd never be able to get a job. No one would ever hire her. Forget working in the Ministry someday, being Minister for Magic. She was a criminal now, with a criminal record. What would her parents say?

She sat in her cell with her back against the filthy wall. Hers had a small round window that let in the sunlight... and then the twilight... and then the moonlight. Dinner had been served but she'd refused it. How could anyone eat in such a place, in such conditions?

What had she been thinking?

Though it had always been discussed as a possibility, she never genuinely thought they'd end up in Azkaban! A fine, perhaps. She thought they'd have to pay a fine. Maybe face the Wizengamot on minor charges of civil disobedience.

The rally had started off as planned. George's diversion both distracted Aurors and Ministry officials away from the rotunda while W.W.A.M.M. set up and then drew everyone in once Hermione was waiting at the Podium. The morning memorial had everyone feeling sad and heavy and her status as a hero surely helped to ensure they'd listen, even once they started to discern her message. Then Neville had spoken, and they still listened with rapt attention, but now there were mumblings and grumblings... not everyone liked what he had to say. Tina Scamander asked Hermione if she might be able to go on before Andromeda Tonks, thinking her message might be better received in the moment, but as the group didn't want to deviate from the plan, Andromeda stood to speak next instead.

And it went to hell from there.

"Your sister was a murderer!" shouted Travis McKinnon, related to both Marlene, original Order member murdered by Bellatrix in 1981, and Meredith, W.W.A.M.M. core member. "She killed my brother, his wife, and their four children in cold blood! Why should we think you're any different?"

"Bellatrix was my sister, yes, but she hurt me too – she murdered my daughter," Andromeda began. Travis McKinnon cut her off.

"You'd think losing your daughter, you'd understand the cry for vengeance! Or maybe you're _glad_ she's gone. I heard you weren't happy she took up with the werewolf! I heard you outright _hated_ him!"

"Well, er, no, that's not quite true," Andromeda began, her voice quivering, her confidence clearly waning as her eyes misted. "I didn't like him much at first, but I loved my daughter and if she loved him–"

"You look just like her!" called out a ginger-haired woman Hermione didn't recognize. "You and Bellatrix! You're the _same._ Same blood, same madness, same devotion to the Dark Arts!"

"No!" Andromeda looked horrified. "We were blood, she and I, but we didn't regard blood the same way! We–"

"Why don't you want the executions then, eh?" asked a portly, balding man whose face was purpling with anger. "Your daughter's killer's already dead, but that means fuck all to the rest of us! We deserve justice too!"

"I don't necessarily think killing my sister _was_ justice," Andromeda began, but then a hex narrowly missed her, shooting over her right shoulder, hitting the fountain.

"Death Eater apologist!" someone screamed. "You're bad as they were!"

"If you're not with us," said Travis McKinnon, "You're against us!"

Another hex shot forward, hitting the podium. Hermione didn't see who fired back, but she suspected it was Ginny, who, as a frequent co-babysitter for little Teddy, had grown rather fond of Andromeda over the last year. Soon curses and hexes were flying in all directions, though some witches and wizards resorted to physical violence instead. Hermione, refusing to raise her wand, begged her side to stop. Either no one heard her, or no one cared.

"This is a non-violent protest!" Hermione shouted over the din. She turned to Draco. "Help! We need to stop this!"

"I can stop this," he said. Then, without giving further thought to what he was about to do, he threw up his wand and shouted, "Morsmordre!"

The green smoky Dark Mark appeared over their heads in the Ministry.

And everyone froze.

There were a few panicked seconds as those in the crowd looked around to figure out who was dead, but realizing pretty quickly the answer was 'no one,' Aurors – save for Hestia Jones and those few still supporting her – rushed in on Kingsley Shacklebolt's command, and began making arrest after arrest.

Though some counter-protestors argued or fought back, the members of W.W.A.M.M. went quietly, expecting they'd be taken down to one of the round rooms on the same floor where the trials were held, as had been discussed as a possibility prior to planning the rally.

Instead, they ended up here.

In Azkaban.

Under arrest.

Arrested.

Narcissa stared down at the Daily Prophet as if she expected more information to magically appear on the front page, but none did. All the paper told her was the same thing she'd been told by Auror Hestia Jones the afternoon before. Her son – and his Muggle-born girlfriend – had been arrested.

She felt sick. The first time her husband had been arrested, they'd let him rot in that prison for a year before the Dark Lord freed him.

The second time, he'd never come home.

How long could they possibly keep her baby locked up? She'd asked Jones the day before, but the woman had no definitive answer for her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy," she'd said.

"I'm sorry too," said Narcissa.

Now she was truly alone. No husband, no son.

 _But your son will return,_ she reminded herself. _He's not gone forever._

Unless they decided to kill him, to prove a point. There was a zero tolerance policy put in place for those who'd been freed under the Mentorship program. They could not get in trouble. They could not fuck up. They could not – they especially could not – get caught doing anything subversive that in any way harkened back to their old Death Eater activities...

Like sending up the Dark-fucking-Mark right there in the Ministry.

She hadn't raised a stupid son, but apparently she'd raised a romantic, because there was no doubt in her mind he'd joined this little group to appeal to that bushy-haired fashion-challenged bookworm Hermione Granger.

She wanted to hate the girl for this, to blame her, to mentally plot her demise as she had those of the members of the Wizengamot, but found she couldn't. Like it or not, her son liked this girl. And she seemed to like him. And for whatever reason, reasons Narcissa was sure she'd not understand, they seemed to make each other happy despite both their differences and their history.

She also couldn't help appreciating the girl's mission, though she wished her son was not involved. To have been tortured by Bella for information the way Hermione had been, to have been hunted for a year when she could've just escaped to Australia with her Muggle parents, to have watched friends die, to have been brave enough to help Potter stand up to the Dark Lord starting from age eleven knowing he'd kill her without a second thought, and to still be against executing those responsible for the misery she'd experienced was admirable, and Narcissa respected her for it.

Kind of hated her, but respected her nonetheless.

Tonight, when Severus knocked, Narcissa played no games. She flew to the door, wrenched it open, and collapsed into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, sounding more like her sister begging the Dark Lord's forgiveness than she liked. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

All of his annoyance and anger over having been shut out the last couple of days immediately dissipated. He lifted her as he had the December day he'd forced her into the shower, kicked the door closed behind them, and carried her from the hall, up the stairs, to her bedroom. Here he took off his cloak, used a spell to get dry, removed his shoes, and turned his back while she slipped into a nightgown.

Then they spent the rest of the night in bed.

She curled up on her side, he settled himself behind her, with his arm around her waist and her hand over his, keeping him close. Spooning, he believed this was called. It was an intimate position, perhaps more so than any they'd engaged in thus far, save, of course, for those few frenzied moments the day she found the Dilys Derwent card.

Tonight, she cried and worried and blamed herself and apologized several more times. He comforted her, assured her she was not responsible for her grown son's decisions, swore he was not upset at her for the temporary freeze-out, and promised he'd remain at the Manor with her until Draco returned, despite having no idea how long that would be.

Despite his better judgment, after agreeing to stay, he pressed his lips briefly to the back of her shoulder, shifting himself even closer to her under the blankets, leaving absolutely no space between them. She made no mention of this most inappropriate kiss, but relaxed in his arms, finally succumbing to sleep somewhere after midnight.

He lay awake until sunrise.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Poor Snape... finally getting over Lily while falling for another emotionally unavailable woman. I almost feel bad about it. (almost.)

This chapter was structurally a little different from the others but I hope you liked it! If you didn't, don't worry, it's the only one broken in four separate parts like this with sparse dialogue. The rest of the fic continues on as usual.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed - I'm super excited to have hit 100! The next chapter, which is the halfway point, opens after at least one of our characters has been released from Azkaban and is entitled "Regret." After that is one of my personal favorites that I've written thus far, "Restitution." So... stay tuned! And please let me know what you think!

Thanks!

 **-AL**


	15. Regret

**A/N:**

Be advised, this chapter has some citrusy bits, which earns it the new M rating. You may wish to skim through it that's not your cup of tea. Or, if you're so inclined, add that lemon to your tea, sit back, and enjoy, knowing there's more of it coming up in several of the next few chapters too. lol... Thx!

 **-AL**

* * *

 **STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN:**

 **REGRET**

The next morning, Severus awoke to find Narcissa still securely settled in his arms. Two thoughts hit his mind simultaneously – that he'd made a terrible mistake, and that he was about to make another terrible mistake. He swept aside the hair covering the back of her neck with his overlong nose, let his lips just barely brush against her skin, and murmured, "Are you awake?"

"Mm-hm." She took his hand, brought his palm to her lips, and kissed it. "This was the best I've slept in almost a year. Thank you for staying."

"I'm content, staying."

She moved the palm she'd kissed to her right shoulder, so his arm was draped across her chest, and twisted her upper body just enough to look at him.

"What are we?" she whispered.

"Friends," he replied, though he couldn't help thinking he'd rather be more. Much more. He wondered if she could feel the poke of his involuntary morning erection against her arse.

"That's what I thought." She twisted her body more, moving onto her back. His hand remained on her right shoulder. "Just friends."

And then she kissed him.

It was brief, gentle, more exploratory than passionate. When they parted she rolled again to her side, pulling him back into a spooning position.

"I'm sure it won't surprise you to know I've only ever been with my husband."

"It doesn't surprise me."

"You're the only other man I've even kissed."

"That does not surprise me either." It did, however, increase his feelings of guilt.

"I kissed a woman though, once, at a party." She offered up this information a little too casually, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. He smirked.

"I heard."

"Did you?"

"Everyone heard. Our social circle was relatively small, remember? I was at Hogwarts when it happened, but I heard."

"Oh." She went slightly pink. "Know what I heard?"

"No, what?"

"I heard everything you said that day I was eavesdropping. All the sense you made regarding my son and his... his girlfriend... and young people, and what they do... and how courting is different now... and I'm trying to accept it. I'm accepting it for him, trying not to mind knowing that he might be... that he has... you know."

"I know." He kissed her shoulder again. She sighed.

"But _I_ can't be that way, Severus. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"You've been so good to me, and I don't know... I want to, but I cannot properly thank you... and I..."

"You don't owe me sex as thanks for being your friend." (Not that he wouldn't accept it if offered.) "I owe your husband my life. The least I can do is... is be there for you."

"Do you like being there for me? Or is it a chore? Do I make you miserable?"

"You make me quite the opposite of miserable." He wanted to kiss her again. So badly, he wanted to kiss her. Needing to diffuse the tension, he added, "Besides, you've already given me something far better than sex."

"My friendship?"

"No, that's not at all better," he replied dryly. She giggled. "I was referring to the Dilys Derwent card. I'd been trying to find one for nearly thirty years to complete my Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts collection."

She smiled, comforted by and content in his embrace. "I truly don't know how I'd have gotten through these last few months without you, Severus. How did you do it? Grieve? After Lily was killed? How did you force yourself out of bed everyday once she was gone, knowing...?"

"Knowing I'd never be able to atone for my actions? Knowing I'd never know absolution? Knowing I'd never be able to convince her to forgive me for all I'd done, for destroying our friendship, for turning her son into a target?"

"Is that what ruined your friendship?" Narcissa brought his hand to her mouth again, kissing the pads of each of his fingers in turn. _Fuck_ , _she was certainly adept at sending mixed signals._

"I ruined our friendship years earlier, at Hogwarts." Though his memories had been viewed by the Wizengamot at his short trial on Potter's request, thankfully the Prophet hadn't managed to report everything, thus he still had a few secrets. "I called her a Mudblood."

Narcissa gasped. "But you hate that word!"

"I do now. I didn't like it then much either, honestly. But I was angry. I was hurt... I suppose I wanted her to hurt too. The worst part is, I wasn't even angry with her. Not really. I was angry with Potter and Black for humiliating me in front of her. I was embarrassed by her taking up for me, like I needed protection from some Gryffindor girl taking pity on me... I'm not proud of the way I treated her. She'd been my best friend. My first friend. For a long time, my only friend."

"I'm sorry." She kissed his palm again, then his inner wrist. He shifted uncomfortably. _Didn't she understand how deeply he desired her, how this physical contact was killing him?_ "Did you apologize?"

"Several times. But she wanted me to... I was already an unofficial Death Eater at that point, one Dark Mark short of swearing my allegiance to the Dark Lord. She wanted me to be rid of my other friends, Mulciber and Rosier and Lucius. I couldn't bring myself to reject them, to denounce him. I wanted to feel included. I wanted to be important. I thought she might be attracted to me romantically if I were important."

"Oh, Severus," sighed Narcissa sympathetically, but pityingly. He hated that sort of sigh. "You thought the Muggle-born girl would fancy you if you were a prominent figure in a movement led by a man committed to eliminating girls like her? How could a brilliant man like you be so foolish?"

"I was a teenager. I was a dunderhead. I cannot rationally explain it."

"I'm sorry. It's my fault, then, that you lost your friend. If I hadn't introduced Lucius to the Dark Lord, encouraged him to recruit friends and younger students, boys like you..."

"It's not your fault." He kissed her shoulder again, and then the spot where it met her neck, and finally just below her ear.

"I know you want me," she murmured, turning to be under him again. "I know you want me, Severus."

"Yes."

"I want you, too."

"Yes?"

"But I'm married, Severus." She kissed his lips again, her eyes closed. "I'm married." Another kiss. "I'm always going to be married..." Her mouth opened enough to grant entrance to his tongue, and then he was completely on top of her, parting her thighs with his knee, settling his groin between her legs, grinding against her as she clung to his shoulders, kissing over and over and over again as they had once before, tongues connecting, pulses quickening. Before either could process it they were becoming frenzied and flustered, kissing and caressing each other's upper bodies, thrusting against each other in a simulation of what they both needed but would not give in to.

"You want me?" he growled into her neck, where he'd just left a love-bite. "Do you want me as I want you, Narcissa?"

"Desperately," she confessed. She moaned as he kissed her temple and cheek and throat, her hands running over his back and arms, their bodies writhing against each other. "But I can't, Severus... I can't... I'm married. I can't do... I can't do what I know I'll regret."

"I know." He had to stop. He had to put a stop to this. He couldn't be touching her, kissing her, sleeping beside her. She wasn't his to hold. He couldn't have her. And he wouldn't hurt her. But why couldn't he stop?

"We'll both regret it," she continued as his hands moved up her nightgown, grasping bare thighs, and her pelvis tipped involuntarily up toward his. "I'll always love my husband and you still love Lily and neither of us is ready for..."

"I know."

(But why did _love_ have to factor at all? Why not give in to what their bodies needed, to comfort each other in a physical way, to make each other feel good?)

"I don't know what I want," she whispered, the pain palpable in her voice. "I don't know how to feel."

"I'm sorry." A reversal from last night, now he was the one apologizing. "I'm sorry."

"I... want you, but I don't know how..."

"It's alright." He kissed her lips once more before extracting himself from the bed with a groan, leaving the blankets gathered at the bottom, which made her feel terribly exposed. He stretched, stiff from having been in that position all night when he usually slept flat on his back. He was panting slightly and his need for her was obvious. She found herself averting her gaze, as if he might not notice how hard he was if she pretended not to.

"Mind if I shower?" he asked.

"Please."

He turned, heading for the loo. She closed her eyes, unable and unwilling to watch him go. She listened carefully as the water came on, torn between hating herself for needing him around and wanting to join him in the shower.

She and Lucius had had a lot of sex in that shower over their twenty-five years of marriage.

Hell, they'd had a lot of sex everywhere. In every room of Malfoy Manor, including in the wine cellar, long before it was turned into a prison for Olivander and the Lovegood girl, and in the nursery, when expecting Draco, plus in every bedroom and the library and the drawing room and the parlor and the study... They'd had sex on the dining room table and against the kitchen counter and even in the small pantry. They'd had sex in Knockturn Alley twice and in the Mediterranean Sea while on holiday once – the possibility of getting caught was a thrill for Lucius – and another time they'd rented a room above the Three Broomsticks because they simply couldn't wait until they got home. For the first four days of their honeymoon they hadn't even left their hotel room, though they didn't confine their coupling to the bed.

She and Lucius had sex for all sorts of reasons, too. To celebrate when things were good, to relieve stress when things were not, to try to conceive a second child, to express their unyielding desire for each other, and, most frequently over the last several years, to combat boredom in the winters when their son was off at school and it was too cold to venture outside. Oh, and they'd done it outside, too. On the grounds, against the gate, in the garden, bent over a bench in the greenhouse...

With the exceptions of his stints in Azkaban and when she was too newly a mother for it to be safe, they never went more than a few days without being intimate. She loved him and she loved sex. She needed him, though she'd never have him again, and she needed sex, though...

She sighed.

As wrong as it was, having Severus in her bed, even platonically, helped her from being completely crushed by the depression and nightmares that came from sleeping alone and she couldn't help desiring more.

That said, never, not once in all the years she had been married, had she ever even entertained the notion of someday going to bed with another man.

Not once.

They'd had conversations about her being with another woman – sparked by Lucius' positive reaction to having seen her snogging Zinnia Fortunato Zabini at that party – but it was never serious, never seriously anything either of them would consider doing, and certainly not the same as envisioning her with another man (or him with another woman).

She'd also never seen Severus as anything beyond a friend, a friend of her husband's with whom she was also friendly, though she had considered kissing him right on the mouth the day he promised to keep Draco both alive and from becoming a murderer. But that would have been out of relief and gratitude, not romantic in any way.

But now...

Now, to be desiring another man, not only while in the home she shared with her husband but in his bed, she felt sick with herself. She felt like a failure. She felt like a slag. She felt like an adulteress.

She felt empty and aching and stressed and aroused.

And so, when she heard the water running, she closed her eyes and thought, perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to give in to fantasy. After all, he probably was. He was probably in the shower right now, thinking about her, thinking about kissing and touching her, thinking about getting more from her while touching himself.

And the very thought of this had her squirming and wriggling and wet. Her right hand slipped down the side of her nightgown, between her legs, but over her knickers – as if what she was doing wasn't real if she wasn't making direct contact with her sex – and she began to flick against and massage the swollen, begging bud between her folds. She couldn't help crying out once... _fuck, it felt good,_ and she needed it... Before the war, her sex life had been not only incredible, but a constant, and in addition to missing her husband and the physical closeness with her husband, she missed the physical aspect on its own, too. Could she really go the rest of her life without ever having sex again? No, she couldn't think on that now. Instead she imagined Severus in the shower, his hard cock in his hand, bringing himself to completion with her name on his lips.

Severus jerked his head to the side. He'd been waiting for the water to warm up and was standing in a towel, about to step into the shower, when he heard her cry out. Was she sobbing again? Did she need him?

Making sure the towel was secure around his waist (and trying to ignore the way it was tented by his erection against the cloth) he opened the door a crack and peered into the bedroom, expecting to find her wailing against a pillow, or perhaps hurting herself again.

Instead the sight that met him took his breath momentarily away, stopping his heart, and ensuring what little blood flow still circulating toward his brain was promptly redirected to his groin. She had her eyes closed, one hand squeezed over her breast, the other under her nightgown but over her knickers, rubbing deftly, as her hips bucked and her shoulders twitched.

Surely she couldn't be thinking about him? She must be thinking about Lucius, taking any physical arousal spurred by his touch and repurposing it into a fantasy featuring her husband.

But then she cried out his name.

"Severus!"

And he nearly came right then in the towel.

Though he felt like a voyeur and almost – _almost_ – felt too guilty to do it, he kept the door open a crack, watching her, as he took his hard cock in his hand and began to pleasure himself as she did the same. She moved her fingers faster and faster and he sped up his own movements to mirror hers. When she suddenly slid her fingers into her knickers, plunging two inside, bringing herself over the edge, he lost control. He groaned, very nearly calling out her name, and finished onto the towel, which he then vanished. Hoping her own whimpers of ecstasy covered the sound of his audible response, he closed the door, hurried into the shower, and tried to remember how to breathe.

Also struggling to remember how to breathe, albeit in an entirely different place for an entirely different reason, was none other than Hermione Granger.

She'd been let out of her cell to meet with a representative from the Wizengamot, who explained the charges levied against all of those who belonged to W.W.A.M.M. and were arrested. Some, like Tina Goldstein, Fleur Weasley, and Eloise Greengrass, had already been released. Others, including Andromeda Tonks, Augusta Longbottom, and Fillius Flitwick, were set to be out in a matter of days. But others – namely Draco Malfoy – were risking years. _Years_ behind bars for participating in a peaceful demonstration at which no one was seriously injured.

"This isn't right!" exclaimed Hermione. "Why would his sentence be that much harsher?"

"He is a known Death Eater," said the man from the Wizengamot in a bored sounding voice. "And upon completion of the Mentorship program, there is a zero tolerance policy for..."

"I did it!" Hermione shouted, jumping up from her chair, startling the man. "I grabbed his wrist and thrust his arm in the air and yelled out the incantation for the Dark Mark. Only a witch or wizard who'd been branded with it could do it, that's why I grabbed his arm and used his wand, and it worked! I didn't even know it would work, I simply wanted to stun everyone into stopping, before anyone got hurt! He's being blamed for what I did, and that's not fair!"

"Frankly, I do not believe you, Miss Granger."

"It's the truth! Use Veritaserum on me if you must! Use Occlumency!" The latter she thought she could fight, but the former? She'd only be able to keep up with the lie if someone – Severus Snape, she hoped – realized why it was being administered and didn't properly brew it.

"Miss Granger, really." The man pursed his lips and stared back at her as if annoyed. "Why do you care what happens to the lad? I understand he was your Mentee and you gave him a good review, but we all make mistakes."

"I didn't make a mistake! He _is_ reformed! He never wanted to do the things he did. He's not a bad person! And this – I made him do this! I made him get involved with 'wham' and I made him attend the rally! He should've been home with his mother. He wouldn't have even been there if not for me! Please, sir, it's all my fault! Please, don't let an innocent man rot away in this prison because of something I've done!"

"I shall discuss this with my colleagues," the man droned, shuffling his paperwork, placing it back in his briefcase. He stood, obviously considering their meeting over. Hermione caught a glimpse of a packet of pens in there before he snapped it shut, a sure sign he wasn't raised in the magical world, where quill and ink still rules. This gave her an idea. Though this was not a card she'd ever played before, she had no idea what else to do.

"Don't you know who I am?" asked Hermione, desperation creeping into her voice. "I'm Hermione Granger! The brains of the Golden Trio! I kept Harry Potter alive for seven years! I helped defeat Lord Voldemort – I even fought off his snake, saving Harry, Christmas 1997! I risked my life pretending to be Harry to help him escape his childhood home when he came of age! At great personal risk, I brewed and took Polyjuice Potion to present as Bellatrix Lestrange!" (The man flinched upon hearing the witch's name, same as he had when she'd said 'Voldemort.') "I broke us into Gringotts! I helped find and destroy Horcruxes! I'm a huge part of the reason you – you, a Muggle-born – I'm the reason you still have a wand and a job instead of having been killed, as you would have been if we hadn't won the war! Where were you this time last year? Did you fight in the Battle at Hogwarts? I was there! And I'm telling you, I sent up the Dark Mark to stop the fighting before the protest turned more violent, or even deadly! I did it to save lives, and I'll not see Draco Malfoy pay for it because of his name and his blood and the bigoted way you all view him just because of who his father was! If you insist upon charging him with Engaging in Dark Activities, charge me as well! Let it go before the full Wizengamot! Let everyone know that I – Hermione Granger, Mudblood, the one who helped destroy Voldemort – called up the Dark Mark!"

The wizard raised both eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"Very well, Miss Granger, Mudblood, one who helped destroy Voldemort... You shall be charged as well."

He turned and exited.

She was returned to her cell before she could process this.

Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

What had she done?

Over the next several weeks, Hermione and Draco, Severus and Narcissa played a waiting game, as there was nothing else to do.

Narcissa had no political power or good name with which to speed the process along as she had during the first war. Even her gold didn't appeal to the Ministry anymore. And while Severus was a hero, he was still regarded with suspicion, thus taking up for Draco only earned him the side-eye and an "I'm sorry, sir, but our hands are tied until the trial."

Andromeda, unbeknownst to her sister, also attempted to intervene on Draco's behalf, but was ordered away. She then turned to the only person she thought might still be able to influence the Wizengamot, her grandson's godfather.

"I lost my husband and my only child to this war," she told Harry. "My sister shouldn't suffer the same."

Meanwhile, Severus moved temporarily into a guest room at Malfoy Manor, as he thought it was unwise to continue sleeping beside a woman he was increasingly attracted to, especially as her fragile state meant that she continued to waffle between desiring him like a lover and reminding him how much she loved her late husband and would therefore never consider being with anyone else. He was afraid they would end up engaging in an act mutually wanted in the moment that both would then heartily regret later.

Hermione met with the rude Wizengamot representative several more times as her trial approached. She, George, Neville, Angelina, Dean, Cho, Ginny, Parvati, Padma, and Luna would all be facing the Wizengamot together, each charged with Civil Disobedience and Disrupting the Peace. The following day, regardless of the determination from the day before, Hermione would again sit in the center dais in front of the full Wizengamot on a charge of Engaging in Dark Activities, beside Draco, whom she was determined to see released.

"They're trying to make examples of us!" Neville Longbottom yelled out from his cell one night, after learning Luna had been asked to testify against him in exchange for immediate release. Of course, it was an offer she turned down. "They want to pit us against each other, to destroy us and our message! Don't let them! Stand together, stand strong! We didn't do anything wrong!"

"Stand together, stand strong!" echoed Ginny. "We didn't do anything wrong!"

The rest of them, all on the same cell block, all within earshot, continued the chant, which lasted well into the evening, even when Aurors ordered them to be silenced.

"Stand together, stand strong! We didn't do anything wrong!"

The only one who did not join in this was Draco. He was on a different floor, in the area formerly reserved for those serving life, like his aunt and her cousin Sirius. They'd put him on the block for murderers.

Where, more quickly than those several floors below him, he was already losing hope.


	16. Restitution

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER SIXTEEN:**

 **RESTITUTION**

At the group trial, it was decided the Ministry would release those in custody, citing "time served," though they each had to pay a fine and would forever have that conviction on their records. Afterward, Hermione was remanded into custody, to face the Wizengamot again the following day.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger," read the bored-sounding rude representative Hermione had hated. "You are both hereby charged with Engaging in Dark Activities with Malicious Intent and Inciting a Riot."

Draco nodded, then glanced at his mother, wondering how she'd been taking his month-long absence. She'd gotten dressed up today. It was the best he'd seen her look in years, actually. Her hair was pulled neatly back into a knot at the nape of her neck, she was wearing makeup, she looked less emaciated than she had at his father's trial, and she'd donned one of her most expensive but modest dress robes. She sat, back straight, regarding him seriously and sternly, but also with concern. She was dignified and strong. He was proud of her.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

Narcissa held her head even higher, staring at the ceiling. Draco felt awful. How could he do this to her, after all she'd already been through? He glanced at Hermione. She, too, looked on the verge of tears, but was staring defiantly and bravely back at the Wizengamot. He sighed. _She_ was how. She was how he could do this. He liked her, he admired her, and he wanted to impress her... plus, he genuinely wanted to do good in the world, like her.

He only hope his mother would forgive him.

"Hermione Jean Granger," the bored-sounding wizard said, facing her. "How do you plead?"

She tossed her frazzled hair, momentarily reminding of his deceased aunt, and answered truculently, "Guilty."

"What?!"

Draco was not the only one to audibly react with shock. In the galley, several Wizengamot members and spectators expressed dismay as well, including Harry Potter.

(Ugh. _Potter._ Merlin forbid Draco wanted to marry this witch someday, surely she'd insist upon issuing an invite to that four-eyed, lightning-scarred, Hero-Complex-Chosen-One-Who-Always-Does-the-Right-Thing to the wedding, and both men would have to set aside their mutual loathing to accept that.)

"I'm guilty," repeated Hermione, speaking over the din. "I wanted to stop the rally before it became violent, so I grabbed Draco's wrist, forced his wand into the air, and conjured up the Dark Mark. I did it. I admit it. I used him. He was a pawn, nothing more. I'm guilty."

"I'm no pawn!" He sent her a sharp look. What was she doing? Taking a page out of Potter's book, surely, and sacrificing herself to save a friend. Sorry, no. Not today. "I summoned the Dark Mark of my own volition. I wanted to jar everyone into stopping. I..."

Suddenly, he heard his mother's voice in his head. But not in the way he'd heard his father's while in that cell. No, he was literally hearing his mother's voice. She was glaring intently at him, not breaking eye contact, her lips moving slightly. She was a Legilimens! He'd always suspected, but now he knew. She could not only read his thoughts, she – like the Dark Lord – was apparently capable of planting thoughts into the minds of others, and she was doing it to him now. It was... unnerving... and shocked him into silence.

 _'Be smart. Let her fall on the sword for you. Her punishment will be nothing compared to yours. She's a hero; she has a clean record. There will be forgiveness for her, but a lifetime in Azkaban for you. Be smart. Let her fall on the sword for you. Her punishment...'_

The same words, over and over, replaying over the mental image of his father on the last day they saw each other. His father had clapped him on the shoulder and called him the man of Malfoy Manor, and then his father had held his mother and whispered words of love into her ear until the woman was dragged away from him by Aurors.

 _'There will be forgiveness for her, but a lifetime in Azkaban for you...'_

"Draco's trying to protect me!" Hermione exclaimed. "But you don't need to, Draco. I _want_ to come clean. I want them to know that I did it! I'm not sorry, either. It worked exactly as intended. The fighting stopped. No one was seriously hurt. I did it that day and I would do it again!"

"Please, Hermione," Draco said quietly, hoping she would understand why he was going to do what he was about to do. "Let me take the fall. You have a bright future in front of you. I have nothing. Let them take me. Let me take responsibility."

"Prove it," called out a witch on the Wizengamot. "If it is possible to summon the Mark without having the Mark on your arm, do it now."

"I was holding his wrist and he had his wand," said Hermione. "I cannot summon it on my own, and especially not as wandless magic!"

"Give the boy his wand," said the witch. Another witch stepped forward, removed it from a sheath, and held it out to him. His heart skipped. It hadn't been destroyed! He glanced at his mother. He wasn't sure he could non-verbally conjure the Dark Mark and he was reasonably certain Hermione was about to prove it couldn't be done by her while holding his arm, either.

Every so subtly, Narcissa winked at him.

"Mors... Morsmord..." Hermione attempted, her voice shaking.

"See?" said a wizard in the second row. "She can't do it."

"Because you're intimidating her!" snapped Harry Potter, speaking for the first time since the proceedings began. "She could do it in the moment; I'm sure she could. Hermione is her best under pressure!"

Draco and Hermione made eye contact. She didn't seem to notice that his eyes had gone strangely blank. She inhaled sharply, let it out, and thrust his arm in the air again.

 _"Morsmordre!"_

As Hermione spoke, Narcissa's voice said the same, but inside Draco's head, and, as if he had no control over his thoughts or his movements, he non-verbally conjured the Dark Mark for the first time ever. It exploded in a burst of green smoke from the tip of his wand, forming a cloud of skull and serpent above their heads. Hermione yelped with surprise. Draco, meanwhile, felt strangely calm... detached... almost as if he wasn't there at all...

The feeling of blissful disconnectedness dissipated the moment he glanced back at his mother, who smiled, and suddenly, he knew. Not only was she a Legilimens, but she had put him under the Imperius Curse in order to ensure he was able to non-verbally conjure the Mark. As much as he loved her, he'd never thought her much of a witch. She had so little use for complicated magic in her daily life, and she'd dropped out of school early, and she hadn't fought in that Final Battle...

He had to fight the urge to smile appreciatively in her direction, but he'd never been more impressed by her.

"I'm convinced," said the witch who'd made the initial suggestion. The other witch took back Draco's wand, sheathing it again. "He was with that group, though. He ought to be found guilty of an act of Civil Disobedience."

"We... didn't charge him with that," admitted a portly, balding wizard. Draco recognized him as the one who'd told Andromeda his family deserved the same justice she'd gotten by seeing Bellatrix killed. "We thought this one would stick, and..."

"And since it hasn't, it appears he's free to go," said the witch. "What about the girl?"

"Guilty, clearly," said an elderly warlock with a white beard that rivaled that of Dumbledore's in length. "Dismiss the young man and we'll discuss her sentencing."

"A fine," suggested Harry Potter. "Like the others. That's fair."

"The others didn't incite panic by sending up You-Know-Who's symbol of death. The others didn't engage in illicit Dark Activities. The others..."

"A fine," said Potter, more definitely. "She did it for the right reasons. She was trying to prevent anyone getting hurt, or killed! You should be thanking her, but since you're set on convicting her, sentence her to paying a fine."

"Let's adjourn," said the portly, balding wizard. "We shall reconvene tomorrow for a closed session during which punishment will be discussed. For now, Malfoy is free to go... and Granger is remanded back to Azkaban."

"No!" shouted Potter and Draco at once. Hermione bowed her head.

"It was a lie!" shouted Draco. "I did it, I conjured the Dark Mark! She lied to protect me! You can't take her back there."

"She was trying to help!" Potter yelled, speaking over Draco. "She is a hero, not a criminal! She's the reason Voldemort's gone! Without Hermione, I'd have been dead First Year!"

"Aurors?" said the man. He gestured for them to take Hermione back into custody. One, a thin man with a curly goatee, stepped forward to do so. The other, Hestia Jones, held back.

"This is wrong. You're making an example of her and it's wrong."

"Auror Jones, do your job or you'll be relieved of your job," snapped the man.

Hestia stared at him for several seconds, then, after a cursory glance in Hermione's direction, she removed her Auror badge, placed it on the nearest chair, and folded her hands.

It went to hell from there.

When Narcissa and Draco returned to Malfoy Manor a short while later, both were emotionally exhausted. After much shouting and Auror intervention, it had been determined the Wizengamot would discuss Hermione's sentencing immediately, but in a closed session, thus everyone else had to leave. Hestia Jones and Harry Potter walked with the Malfoys to the elevator, which they rode in silence to the main atrium.

"She lied because she likes you," Potter said softly to Draco as they were continuing toward the fireplace grates. "Are you... together?"

"She's my girlfriend," Draco answered, just as quietly. "But I didn't ask her to lie."

"Don't hurt her." Potter regarded Draco sternly, like a father figure. It was a look that would have made Draco want to hex him had the Wizengamot's desire to punish him not just potentially extended Hermione's Azkaban stay. "She deserves better than to be used and cast aside by the likes of you."

"I agree." They'd reached the fireplaces. Narcissa grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and raised her eyebrows at her son. "I'll be along, Mother. I promise." She nodded and stepped into the fireplace. Draco turned back to Potter. "I'm good to her, Potter. Far better than your mate Weasley ever was."

"You'd better be."

Draco did not dignify this with a response. He stepped into the floo, said "Malfoy Manor Drawing Room," and was gone. Upon entry into his home, he hugged his mother quickly, then hurried upstairs to shower straight away, as he hadn't done so in one day shy of a month and felt disgusting.

He was not surprised to find his mother sitting in a conjured up rocker in his bedroom half an hour later when he emerged from the loo.

"Good thing I didn't step out here naked," he said, reaching into his wardrobe for clean clothes, his monogrammed robe tied tightly shut.

"Trust me, I've seen whatever you've got, and I couldn't care less." She rocked slowly back and forth, subconsciously running her fingertips over the burn scars along her inner arm. "I used to change your nappies, remember?"

He snorted. "When I was a year old."

"Until you were three. You were late to understand the importance of being potty-trained. Your grandmother was worried you'd need to take a house-elf to Hogwarts to powder your bottom. Your father thought there might be something wrong with you, but I reckoned you were just lazy."

"This is a conversation I'd _love_ to have immediately upon my release from prison, Mummy. Please, go on." He selected a light gray button-down silk shirt and dark gray trousers and headed back toward the toilet to change.

"You're welcome! Without me, you and your girlfriend would _both_ still be in Azkaban! You permanently, perhaps. Instead, here you are, and she'll be out in a day or two, I'd bet every galleon we've got."

He left the door open a crack as he changed so they could continue the conversation. "I cannot believe you had the audacity to use an Unforgivable Curse on me in the presence of the entire Wizengamot!"

"Worked, didn't it?"

Once he was dry, dressed, and had his growing hair combed, he and Narcissa ate dinner together in the kitchen. Though it would have been easier to have a house-elf cook, Draco insisted upon making the meal himself.

"Are you in love with this girl?" asked Narcissa, when he set the fish and chips down in front of her. It wasn't the sort of meal she'd usually eat, she had a much more refined palate, but she had to admit it smelled delicious.

"I don't know." He sat diagonally from her. "I've never been in love. How am I supposed to know how it feels?"

"You want to be with her all the time? Your heart flutters when she's nearby? You think it might kill you should any misfortune come to her?"

He shrugged, but she knew he was being purposely obtuse rather than genuinely unsure. Narcissa smiled wistfully, wishing Lucius were here.

"You'd fall on a sword for her?"

His head jerked up. "I only let her do it for me because I thought you were right. I thought they'd let her go because of who she is. I thought..."

"I know." She set her hand on top of his. "I understand."

"Do you think she'll understand?"

"I think she wouldn't have done it otherwise." Narcissa took a bite. Damn, the fish was excellent. Her son was becoming quite the chef. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, cooking was a house-elf's job. On the other, well, at least it gave him purpose and a reason to feel good about himself.

Draco was swirling a chip in vinegar when there was a knock at the door.

"Severus, I'm sure." Narcissa gestured for the house-elf to get it. A moment later, it was not the former potions master who entered the room, but a certain frizzy-haired brunette.

"Hermione!" Draco jumped up so quickly his chair clambered onto the floor and rushed to hug her. She burst into tears upon his embrace.

"Harry and Hestia went to Kingsley personally to intervene and they got me out! I was halfway back to Azkaban when the decision was made! I came straight here! I... I... I..."

"I'm sorry." He rubbed her back and let her tears soak into his silk shirt. Narcissa averted her gaze down to the fish in front of her, feeling uncomfortable.

"I don't mean to... to ask anything inappropriate..." Hermione began, glancing at Narcissa. "But might I shower? I feel filthy."

"That's the first thing I did, too. Come with me."

Without a backwards glance at his mother, Draco led his girlfriend up to his bedroom. Narcissa sighed and stabbed her fish with her fork. She was glad, of course, that the girl was no longer in prison, but at the same time she'd been content to have her son at home, to spend a little time together, with no one else around. It had been a terrifying ordeal. From the moment they brought him out onto the dais, handcuffed, chained from his wrists to his feet as Bella and Lucius had been, all she could think about was losing him, losing the only person left who mattered to her.

No, that wasn't true. There was another who mattered to her, but she felt guilty every time she thought of him as of late, so she pushed his face from her mind.

She could have lost her son today. She could have lost her little boy, her Lucius-in-miniature. She could have lost everything left to live for.

Severus arrived as Narcissa was cursing the fact that she wasn't permitted wine anymore (she could really fucking use it) and she immediately took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom. Upon entry, she kissed him squarely on the mouth, holding his face in her hands, and pressed her body against his.

"What's this?" he asked once his lips were free. She pushed off his coat and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.

"I need you." She kissed his throat over the bump his his Adam's apple, eliciting from him a low groan, and then she licked his lower lip. Though he was turned on by this, he felt confused.

"Why now?"

"I want to feel." She reached down to unfasten his belt, jerking his lower body toward hers. "Make me feel. Spend the night. Do what you wish."

"This is not what you want," he replied, grabbing her wrists, though it killed him to turn her down. "If I spend the night, I'll be sleeping down the hall."

"Sleep with me," she whispered. "Please, I'm alone and broken and confused and empty and I hate it. I _hate_ it! I want to forget who I am. Help me." Though he was still holding her wrists, she began rubbing his crotch through the fabric of his trousers. She'd never touched him that way before, and he felt his body responding right away. "Severus, I'm offering myself to you. Take me. Use me. _Fuck me._ Degrade me if you'd like, discard me if you must. Hurt me if you want to. I don't care what you do but I want... I want..."

"I refuse to hurt you." He pinned her wrists behind her back, stopping her from fondling him, but inwardly a voice – the voice usually silenced by reason and the desire to be a decent person, to atone for his past – was screaming to do as requested. She was asking for it, quite literally asking for it, and how fucking _good_ it would feel to have her, to use her...

"Severus..."

"No." He kissed her forehead but in a platonic way, released her wrists, and backed away, fixing his belt. "Let's have tea in the library. This is not a good room for us."

"But..."

"No," he cut her off. "I categorically refuse to use, degrade, discard, or hurt you, and if ever I do go to bed with you, it won't be because you're seeking from me what you've previously sought from potions, liquor, and burning yourself. Do not ask me again." He cleared his throat, retrieved his coat, and tried to appear physically unaffected by her offer. "Tea?"

"Very well." She blinked back her surprise and humiliation and followed him to the library, knowing he was right, and both adoring and loathing him for it. They sipped tea and talked until well after midnight, at which time he headed for home, and she went to bed. Alone.

Down the hall, in the bedroom he'd had since he'd outgrown his nursery, Draco was in bed with Hermione. She wore an old nightshirt of his, long enough to cover to her mid-thighs, and he was in a pair of pajama bottoms. They'd talked and snogged and talked some more, and now it was well-past midnight. He fell asleep first, not having been able to do so much while in Azkaban, but she lay awake, thoughts overlapping, unable to calm herself. There was a part of her that couldn't believe the person she'd become over the last thirteen months, since the war ended. She was an activist - an activist with a criminal record! - and dating the snooty Pureblood ferret-boy whose family had caused her so much pain. Just over a year ago, she'd been on the run with Harry and Ron, waking each morning wondering if the day would be their last, hunting Horcruxes that seemed impossible to find and completely unaware that Harry would have to be willing to die if any of them were going to live. She was proud of the work she'd done since, honestly, despite her arrest. She was proud of her work as a Mentor and was saddened to have been removed from the program for this insubordination. She was proud of herself for protesting the executions, while so many other wizards and witches called for blood, as if more deaths would somehow make them feel better about those that had already happened. And she was proud of having lied for Draco, proud of herself for putting him first (even though she'd vowed after dumping Ron never again to put a man first...). She was glad his mother hadn't lost him. She was content to be here, in his arms... in his bed...

She tightened her grip around his waist. He smelled lovely. He had an undeniably masculine smell. It was his shampoo. Nothing at all like the cheap anti-dandruff stuff Neville kept in their shower, which she borrowed on occasion when her own ran out. She liked the shape of him, too. Thinner than Ron, with an athletic build, but still that of a Seeker, not overly toned. She'd now seen him naked twice and thought he was rather pleasant to look at, like the subject of a painting, with a line of soft blond chest hair that led downward to perfectly-sized penis that wasn't too long or too thin and didn't curve to one side as Ginny complained some did. (Ginny, unlike Hermione, was not a virgin, and she didn't mind sharing her exploits with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Luna, who all asked many questions and, in the twins' case giggled over the answers. "Cho's got lucky with Dean," Ginny said over Easter break, "But whatever witch lands Michael Corner needs to hope he's gotten better with his hands.")

"Draco?" Hermione said softly, her hand venturing lower on his abdomen.

"Mm?"

"Draco, I like you very much."

"Mm-hm. Like-oo too, Merhimnimy," he mumbled, obviously mostly asleep.

"I think I more than like you."

"Mm... hm..." He shifted his weight as her hand moved even lower.

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm... hmm... huh?"

"Could I touch you?"

"Touch... you..." he repeated, then, though his eyes remained closed, a sly grin grew across his face as he became cognizant enough to comprehend her question. "Only if you're naked."

In response, she removed the borrowed nightshirt, tossing it to the floor. This left her in just her knickers, which were, unfortunately, very plain (though clean, thanks to the house-elves. She would try not to feel guilty about them doing her laundry while she showered.)

"You're not naked," he said, slipping his hand between her legs, over the fabric. She wished she'd worn something... sexier. She'd recently purchased her first lingerie in preparation for this occasion, but hadn't been planning to lose her virginity a month ago when she left for that rally.

"I'll take them off if you let me touch you," she said teasingly. His devilish smile grew.

"I'll let you touch me once you're naked."

She slid the plain knickers down her smooth legs (she wondered if he'd had this in mind earlier, when he'd offered her a razor for her shower) and dropped them to the floor with the shirt. Now she had a new worry, though. How much was she supposed to have shaved? Luna said 'nothing,' because 'a man should appreciate a woman for who she is naturally,' but Ginny said 'everything,' because 'he can't fully appreciate what he can't see.'

And what about her chest? Without a bra, when on her back, it didn't hold up as well as she'd liked, now that she'd gained a little weight since the war's end. As if he could hear her thoughts, he began caressing one of her breasts. She tried to subtly perk it up with her arm, but a new, greater worry consumed her.

What if... what if, when he tried it, what if she was too... what if he couldn't comfortably... what if it hurt and she had to ask him to stop?

Luna said it hurt the first time and they'd had to stop, but both Parvati and Padma agreed that it had only been painful for a few brief moments and it was worth continuing through the discomfort, and Ginny swore it didn't hurt at all. Hermione felt her face go red and splotchy and she was glad it was dark as she mulled over - not for the first time - the fact that she was the oldest of her friends and the last to do 'it.'

Draco didn't seem to care about her inexperience. He was responding positively to her touch, having removed his pajama bottoms in anticipation, and in no time at all he was hard and groaning and returning the 'favor,' by working his fingers against her clit while she pleasured him.

"You seem distracted," he said as he slipped a finger inside her. "What's wrong?"

"What if I'm no good?" Her own hand motions ceased. She'd snogged a grand total of four wizards, but had never gone this far - never even seriously considered it - with any but Draco.

"You're good," he assured her, not catching her meaning. He returned her hand to his erection. "Just don't stop. You're good. It's good. I like it."

"I mean when we're having sex. What if I'm no good at that?"

Now it was Draco who stilled. The first time he'd shagged Pansy, they'd been so frenzied and afraid of getting caught, they hadn't even removed their uniform shirts. She'd unfastened his trousers, he'd slid aside her knickers, and they'd gone at it like bunnies against the only wall of the storeroom without potions ingredients lined upon shelves, and it had been... decent. Not wonderful, but decent. A for Acceptable.

He wanted this to be O, for Outstanding.

"You want to have sex? Tonight?"

"Yes," she whispered in reply. "I want to be with you. If you... assuming you want me, too."

"I do." He drew back the blankets, positioned himself over her, and initiated a long, deep kiss, which she reciprocated, albeit awkwardly. "It has to be natural, Hermione. Don't overthink it."

"I overthink everything."

"Try not to. Clear your mind... pretend it's an Occlumency lesson. You like lessons."

She giggled. He'd given her a couple of Occlumency lessons, but as he was no Legilimens, it was impossible to tell whether she was picking up on the old magic.

Even though it would be easy to rush, he knew that the best mutual experience would follow adequate female-pleasuring foreplay (another thing his father imparted on him during 'the talk' that he hadn't wanted to know) thus he took his time exploring her with his hands and lips and tongue, until she was writhing against his sheets and begging him to bring her over the edge. His smirk returned - now it was a self-satisfied one - and, as his mouth met hers, he obliged.

She gasped when he entered her, followed by a soft, 'Ow, that hurts, you're huge,' which was probably not true but nice for his ego. He moved slowly at first but it didn't take long for them to find a rhythm that he'd never quite managed with Pansy or the other girl with whom he'd been (a 20-year-old unMarked Death Eater). They kept to only one position (he didn't think it wise to get too creative yet...) and after about two minutes of steady thrusting and caresses, she was digging her short nails into his back, kissing him with abandon and calling his name. When he managed to bring her to completion before allowing himself to get there, he couldn't help feeling proud to the point of smugness over it.

Afterward she remained in his arms, sweaty and satiated and spent, and he rubbed her back until she succumbed to sleep. He soon followed, rather glad to have gotten to know this bushy-haired Muggle-born bookworm.

In the morning, Narcissa woke feeling better than she had since her son's arrest. The fact that he was home to stay seemed to have set in while she was sleeping. For the first time in a long, long time she felt that everything was going to be alright. Maybe they should even go out for breakfast. They could go to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. They could go to a Muggle place, even, she didn't care. She threw on her dressing gown and made her way to his bedroom, opening the door without giving even a moment's consideration to knocking...

Only to find her son in bed with that girl.

Her heart stopped. Literally stopped. It froze in her chest and sank into her stomach like a stone. Thank Merlin they were under a blanket, because it appeared neither was dressed, at least not from the waist-up. Even though it was entirely irrational, especially given the conversation she'd overheard, she couldn't help feeling like this harlot had seduced her sweet little boy.

 _But no,_ she reminded herself. _He'd been shagging witches since Fourth Year. It was she who'd been the virgin. Perhaps she still was,_ Narcissa thought hopefully. _Perhaps they'd merely undressed because it was too warm in the room?_

(It was not too warm in the room.)

Narcissa knew she should leave, but something caught her eye as she backed into the hall, propelling her forward again.

The girl's arm was free from the blankets, straight out in front of her, hanging half off the bed. On her skin, the word Mudblood was carved in Bella's distinctive childlike scrawl.

The sight of it sickened her and filled her with a deep sense of regret and responsibility. This had happened in her home. Her sister had tortured the girl – permanently disfigured her – right here in this home, and she managed to set that aside to Mentor Draco, to befriend him, to become his... his... his more-than-just-friend.

(She couldn't quite bring herself to think the word 'lover.')

She tiptoed forward to examine the slur more closely. When she ran her fingertips along it, as she so frequently did her own scars, Hermione twitched and her eyelids snapped open. She was groggy for a second, but startled when she realized her situation.

"Oh, no, I... I..."

"Shhh." Narcissa held a finger to her lips. "It's alright. Come with me."

Hermione flushed a deep crimson.

"I... I can't get up..."

Narcissa, pretending the confirmation that her son was naked in bed with a young woman didn't bother her, slipped off her dressing gown, draped it over the bed, and turned her back. A moment later, Hermione was beside her, wrapped in it, wearing the nightshirt and knickers underneath. Narcissa gestured for her to follow.

"Are you going to kill me?" Hermione asked once they were in the hall with the door closed behind them.

"Oh, dear, no, not today," answered Narcissa. "But if you break my son's heart, I'll consider it." She took Hermione by the wrist and led her to the master bedroom, where she asked her to sit on the end of the bed. She went into her vanity and pulled out a vial of clear potion, then lifted a loose floorboard and retrieved a knife.

Bellatrix's knife.

Hermione jolted. "Where did you get that?"

The last time she'd seen it, it had been in Dobby's chest.

"I received it by anonymous owl after the war. My name was on the outside of the parchment it was wrapped in and there was no other message. I always suspected it was sent by Andromeda, but of course it's been so long since I last saw her handwriting, that could be wishful thinking." Narcissa blushed, realizing she'd just inadvertently admitted to the girl that she desired contact from her sister.

"What are you going to do to me?" whispered Hermione, frozen with fear.

"Have you wondered why Essence of Murtlap and Essence of Dittany have both been utterly useless in healing that scar?"

"Yes, but..."

"Some scars are created by Dark Magic. Like the one on Potter's head. And this one. In your case, the blade of the knife was infused with poison." Narcissa snapped back the hilt, revealing a space where a small, flat-sided vial could fit. "Bella didn't merely cut you, she poisoned you. But there _is_ an antidote. Unfortunately, it's painful to administer." She slipped the vial she'd already removed into the hilt and snapped it back into place. "Would you like the word removed?"

"Very much," answered Hermione, her voice cracking. She glanced down at her arm, where the slur marred otherwise smooth skin. It was a reminder not only of the torture she'd suffered that day, but of the horrors of war, and she didn't need it to help her remember.

Narcissa pulled up the vanity stool across from Hermione and laid the girl's arm across her lap. Backward, starting from the D, she slowly traced over each letter. It hurt. It hurt almost as much as the initial cutting. But Hermione watched with baited breath as each letter glistened upon tracing then disappeared, leaving only the faintest white-pink line, like a long-ago healed cat scratch.

When only the M was left, Hermione stopped her. "I... I need a moment."

"I'm sorry," said Narcissa.

"It's alright." Hermione touched her index finger to the remaining letter. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I just need to... to breathe... and to process..."

"I mean, I'm sorry I let this happen to you in the first place." Narcissa drew up her own sleeve, showing Hermione the burns. "I didn't tell this to Severus or to Draco, but I started burning my skin before the war had even ended. I... I tried to burn away the Dark Mark."

"You bore the Dark Mark?" Hermione gasped. Draco had assured her his mother had never been a Death Eater, she'd only tolerated them because she had no other choice.

"The Dark Lord marked me when I was expecting Draco. I was five months along. I'd never felt pain like that before – and, aside from childbirth, never have again. I didn't want it. I never wanted it. But it was hardly a choice."

"Why were you forced to join?"

"I had already joined, but you get your Mark after you prove yourself. That's when... that's when I proved myself." The bitterness in her voice was palpable. "My sister was accused of killing Marlene McKinnon's family, but she didn't do it alone."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Was her boyfriend's mother really confessing to _murder?_

"I had nothing against the McKinnons, but the Dark Lord felt it was time I stopped being a passive observer, and when he handed down a task, you didn't refuse."

"I... that's awful." Hermione tried to wrap her brain around this. With her son growing inside her, Narcissa had helped murder an entire family. But, like Draco in the situation with Dumbledore, she hadn't had a choice... right? "You said you tried to burn it off before the war ended? Didn't Vol... Voldemort notice?"

Narcissa flinched at his name. "He was not well by then. Going mad, I suspected. More ruthless than ever. Distracted. I now believe it was because of the destruction of his Horcruxes, losing them was slowly taking away what little humanity and life were left. If he had been at full form, I never would have been able to use Occlumency to block him out and lie about Potter being dead. He would have seen right through me. I'm still surprised my sister didn't. She and I were both better Legilimens than Occlumens. The former is inherent and the latter is learned, and being girls raised only to be brides, it wasn't important that we learned. She, of course, ended up refining both under the tutelage of the Dark Lord himself, but I never did."

Hermione found this interesting too. Aside from Draco's couple of 'lessons' and what she'd learned second-hand from Harry, she knew little of either of these ancient magics, but suddenly she wanted to know more.

"I wanted out," Narcissa continued. "From the moment the Dark Lord rose again, I wanted out. But Lucius wanted redemption. He wanted to be held high in the Dark Lord's esteem, as we once were, because he was certain we'd then be rewarded rather than punished, even though neither of us... Had we known in 1973 what the Dark Lord and Death Eaters were to become, we never would have... You see, _I_ asked him to recruit Severus. And my cousin, Evan Rosier, who was killed by Aurors. And my other cousin, Regulus Black, killed by the Dark Lord himself for defecting. It's all my fault Lucius joined; it's my fault Draco was forced to take the Dark Mark. Bellatrix introduced me to the Dark Lord first, and I was captivated. He promised... he promised..." Narcissa placed her thumb over the M on Hermione's arm. Hermione fought the urge to pull away.

"I'm a vain and materialistic person, Miss Granger, I'll not pretend otherwise; I always have been. I can admit it. I've only ever wanted to be pretty and popular and adored and envied, to throw lavish parties and buy expensive things, to show off my perfect marriage and my perfect home and perfect son, and the Dark Lord promised all of that on a larger scale than I'd ever even dreamed. He said without Muggle-borns, we would have utopia, an ideal society, and well-bred wizards and witches like us would be at the head of it, the envy of all converted half-bloods and reformed blood-traitors, the ones others aspired to be but could never quite emulate."

Hermione bit down hard on her lip, filled to the brim with conflicting feelings of animosity and pity and revulsion and, somehow, understanding.

"Early on, I wanted it more than Lucius," Narcissa continued, avoiding eye contact. She bent further over Hermione's arm, gently massaging the sore spots where the other letters had been, which eased the lingering pain. "My darling husband would've been content to follow in the footsteps of his father and go no farther. It's _my_ fault he's dead, and _my_ fault Draco nearly died, and it's _my_ fault this heinous word is carved into your arm. I never once said no. I never said stop. I saw what they were doing through both wars, how horrible, the murders, the torture... I didn't support it, not any of that, but I stood right there and let it happen. I used the Killing Curse to put Marlene McKinnon out of her misery. I stood by Draco's side when he was branded with the Dark Mark. I watched in silence while Bellatrix did this to you. I never once said stop."

Hermione felt a splash on her arm. It took a second to realize it was a tear, not fallen from her own misting eyes, but from Narcissa's.

"I should have gone to Azkaban. I should have been arrested instead of Draco. I should have been executed in place of Lucius. It was always my fault."

"No," argued Hermione softly, but the older witch went on.

"I was raised to believe that Muggle-borns were beneath us, undeserving of their magic, a plague on the wizarding world, but that's no excuse. If the way we're raised was a valid excuse for doing evil, Andromeda would not have spoken out against the executions, she would not have run off with Ted Tonks in the first place. Andromeda knew better. She stopped being complacent. Sirius knew better, from _childhood_ he knew better. And Bellatrix, I can't fault her, really. She _truly_ believed every vile lie the Dark Lord spewed. She did not have to _pretend_ what Death Eaters were doing wasn't wrong because she was genuinely devoted... and genuinely mad. No, what I am is much worse than what she was. I _knew_ it was wrong. I knew she was wrong to torture you. But I stood by and let it happen. I did nothing and said nothing and I'll have to live with that _."_

Hermione could not speak. For the first time in her life, not a single word came to her lips, though they were flying around her overachieving brain. When Narcissa spoke again, her voice was higher-pitched and trembling as the tears flowed freely.

"By age twelve you were braver than I have ever been, Miss Granger. You helped Potter stand up to the Dark Lord when you were just a little girl. I couldn't even bring myself to say 'No' when a child prisoner was being held captive here in my home _._ I stayed silent when a _teenager_ was being _tortured_ by my own _sister_ right in front of me. I am _selfish._ I am a _coward._ I am a terrible person, and I am terribly, _terribly_ sorry."

With that, Narcissa seemed to deflate completely, her shoulders shaking, as her forehead connected with Hermione's forearm and she dissolved into sobs. Completely lost for what to do, Hermione stroked the woman's hair in what she hoped was a soothing manner. After a few moments, she found herself again able to form words, relying on her recent on-the-job training to help her along.

"In the Mentorship program, we teach those undergoing rehabilitation that recognition is the first step to recovery. You... you've done terrible things, but you're _not_ a terrible person _._ And every day is a new day, a new day you can choose to..."

"I think my son is in love with you," Narcissa interrupted, sitting up and trying to pull herself together. "And... and if you love him, and you... you want to be together... whatever my old-fashioned views... it's alright with me. I still think you should demand some degree of commitment from him because if you were my daughter I'd... I'd want at least that from any boy who'd..." She swallowed her tears and tried to smile in what she hoped was an accepting way. "But you're welcome to stay here if you'd like. You make him happy. And after all he's been through – all you've _both_ been through – I suppose propriety is, at best, secondary to happiness."

"Thank you," Hermione said, too stunned to say much else. She glanced down at her forearm. "Could we remove the M another time? I... I don't think I'm ready to be rid of it yet."

"Here." Narcissa handed her the knife. "It's a family heirloom, but not one I ought to keep. Use it when you're ready and dispose of it however you see fit."

The door to Narcissa's bedroom creaked open. Both women turned to see Draco, looking groggy and confused, wearing only his pajama bottoms, his almost shoulder-length hair a mess.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Girl talk," said Narcissa. She wiped away the last of her tears.

Added Hermione, "You wouldn't understand."

"No..." agreed Draco, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling as though he'd wandered into another world. "I reckon I wouldn't."

* * *

 **A/N:**

I know this chapter was suuuuuper long, so either I'm sorry or you're welcome, depending upon how you feel about long chapters (lol). I am trying something new with Narcissa. I always write her as a bystander whose involvement with the Death Eaters was largely passive, so I wanted to go in a different direction this time. Thoughts?

 **-AL**

 **PS:** I hope you enjoyed Draco and Hermione's first time together. I thought after all their drama, they deserved a little lovin'. **:)**


	17. Interference

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:**

 **INTERFERENCE**

Hermione returned home the following day to check on Crookshanks, who'd been cared for by Augusta Longbottom during the month she and Neville were in Azkaban. After giving him kisses and cuddles and a new catnip toy to apologize for her long absence, she headed to the Ministry for work, which is when she was given official word of her firing. Ah, well. They'd told her it was coming. She was disappointed, though, to hand over her files to the witch who'd be taking over her current Mentees.

A couple of weeks later, with no money to pay the upcoming July rent, she told Neville she was sorry, but she'd be moving out. To her surprise, he was glad.

"I didn't want to put any pressure on you to leave," he said, "But Luna's out of school now, and, well..."

And that's how Hermione ended up with her own bedroom at Malfoy Manor, cranky cat in tow.

"I don't think we should live _together_ -together," she'd told Draco, "But I appreciate you giving me a place to stay, just for now, until I find a new job."

(Truthfully, he'd have preferred living t _ogether-_ together, but he could see how relieved his mother was when Hermione unpacked her belongings in a third floor guest room rather than in his second floor bedroom.)

One day in early July, after a long day of applying for jobs she knew she wasn't going to get, Hermione headed to Diagon Alley, where she was meeting Draco – and Narcissa – for dinner. She'd just stopped off at Harry and Ginny's. They were living together at 12 Grimmauld Place, much to Ron's dismay, as he wasn't keen on the idea of his best mate shacking up with his little sister.

"Where are _you_ living now?" Ginny asked as Hermione rummaged around in her wardrobe for something suitable to wear. "Neville said you moved out as of the first."

"Renting a room," she replied noncommittally. Draco had told her about telling Harry they were together, but she had a feeling her friend hadn't gone on to share that with anyone else, and she wasn't ready to bring it up herself yet.

Before crossing through the Leaky Cauldron from Muggle London to the wizarding world, Hermione had to steady herself emotionally. Despite her new living situation, this would be the first time she'd shared a meal with her boyfriend and his mother and though she felt things were less uncomfortable with Narcissa now, she still wasn't quite sure how to take the woman. She wanted to impress her, but she didn't want to pretend to be someone she wasn't. She also couldn't help worrying over the fact that Draco – though he'd be furious to hear it said aloud – was a bit of a Mummy's Boy, which might mean Narcissa would see her as a competitor for his affection. Hermione had read all about co-dependent non-romantic relationships in a book from the Muggle library she'd picked up when preparing to start her short-lived career as a Ministry Mentor.

When she arrived Stargazer, a trendy, upscale restaurant that opened post-war, Draco and Narcissa were already seated. He rose, waved her to their table, pulled out her chair, and even placed a cloth napkin on her lap, which made her go slightly pink. Ron had never been the chivalrous type and while that hadn't been something she was seeking, she kind of liked it.

"You look lovely," he said. She tugged anxiously at the hem of her satiny emerald green dress. She'd borrowed it from Ginny and wasn't entirely comfortable with how short it was, but she thought it, combined with her heels, made her legs look rather long, and she was wearing that lingerie underneath...

"You look nice too," she said softly. His crisp button-down collared shirt was a green several shades lighter than that of her dress, but she thought they complimented each other. She glanced at Narcissa, who was wearing a fitted burgundy dress robe accented by a line of diamonds sewn onto the V of the neck. She also had diamonds in her hair, on her wrist, and in her ears. Though beautiful, Hermione couldn't help noticing she looked as awkward as Hermione felt. If this relationship was going to go anywhere, they had to become more comfortable with each other, somehow.

"I concur with Draco," Narcissa said. "Excellent color choice."

"Thanks. I love your jewelry," Hermione said. "It's so... sparkly."

Now she felt like an idiot. _It's so sparkly? Ugh!_

But Narcissa smiled.

"Waitin' on one more?" asked the waiter, a curly-haired young man with an Irish brogue. Draco nodded.

"We are?" asked Hermione. Now it was Narcissa going slightly pink.

"Severus," she explained. " _Draco_ saw fit to invite him."

"He's been a good friend to us since Father's passing and I felt it would be appropriate to show a bit of appreciation," said Draco. "He's done far more with her than I asked of him."

"That's an understatement," said Narcissa so under her breath Draco missed it, but Hermione heard. The younger witch cocked her head slightly to the side, wondering whether she'd just imagined the suggestiveness of the elder woman's words.

Professor Snape arrived moments later, looking more handsome than Hermione had ever seen him. Technically, she couldn't say she'd _ever_ seen him looking handsome before, but tonight he was more dressed up than he was even for the Yule Ball, in an improved version of his usual black frock coat, left open over black trousers paired with a velvety looking navy blue shirt. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail as Draco's was, and even his skin didn't seem as sallow as usual.

Narcissa stood quickly and smiled coyly when he kissed her cheek in greeting. He shook hands with both Draco and Hermione and, just before sitting down, looked Narcissa over in such a way that _Hermione_ felt herself going red again. There was something going on there, she'd bet her wand on it. But Draco, clearly, had no idea, as he was already engrossed in the menu. He also failed to notice when Snape leaned over and murmured something into Narcissa's ear, which broadened her smile. Then he seemed to fail to notice that their former professor ordered for Narcissa, and he made no comment when, at one point, the Malfoy matriarch brushed a bit of invisible dust off the man's shoulder, letting her hand linger there perhaps a moment too long for it to seem completely casual.

Hermione glanced at Draco pointedly a number of times throughout the meal, wondering why he had no reaction to any of this, or to his mother taking a sip of Snape's red wine without even asking him, or to the potions-master feeding her a bite of his lamb right off his fork (Narcissa, like Draco, had ordered duck).

 _Men are dense,_ Hermione thought, as Draco suddenly reminded her of Harry and Ron during fifth year, when she had to explain Cho's actions and feelings to them and they were utterly dumbfounded. The upside was that Hermione no longer felt anxious over having to impress Draco's mother. The woman was clearly too consumed with her own 'date' to pay much attention to a girl potentially stealing her son away.

Draco talked animatedly throughout the meal, in great spirits, and, frankly, helped along by spirits (of the liquor, not haunted, variety). He hilariously described his unpleasant recent interaction with Crookshanks, who'd managed to escape Hermione's room, find Draco while he was drying off after a shower, and went for his arse.

"I'll have permanent scarring! I'll never sit normally again. I don't think he likes me."

"Don't feel too bad," Hermione said sympathetically. "He doesn't like anyone except me. He's always been ornery."

Then Severus told them about being attacked by a kitten as a toddler and how he'd feared cats for years afterward, to the point that, even as a teenager, he would cross the street if he saw one coming, and Narcissa confessed she'd secretly wanted to _be_ a cat as a child, as it seemed all they did all day was get pampered and pet and lay around in whatever warm, sunny places they could find.

"How is that any different from your life at present?" asked Severus.

"No one pets me," she answered without missing a beat.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Not on a daily basis," she replied casually. "Cats are constantly being snuggled and stroked. I'm lucky if I get scratched behind the ears once or twice per week."

Hermione shot a sharp look at Draco, who was now trying to signal the waiter for the dessert menu. _HOW WAS HE NOT CATCHING THIS?!_

As they were finishing their sweet treats, Draco informed his mother that he intended to take Hermione out for drinks at another place, and asked if Severus wouldn't mind seeing her home.

"I can manage on my own," Narcissa said with a roll of her eyes. "I've only had one glass of wine. I can apparate."

"Still," said Draco. "I'd feel better knowing you're in good hands."

"She will be," said Severus.

Hermione choked on her last bite of treacle tart.

"Are you alright?" Draco turned to her with concern. He placed her water goblet in her hand and rubbed her back. She took a sip and nodded.

"Fine," said Hermione, coughing. "I'm fine. Sorry. Went down wrong."

"Don't you hate it when that happens?" asked Narcissa, touching Severus' arm, smirking in the younger witch's direction, and suddenly Hermione had a realization. Narcissa had been intentionally dropping double-entendres knowing Hermione would pick them up, but Draco would not. She suddenly felt silly for not having grasped that up until now, since Draco told her his mother was a Legilimens. Maybe there wasn't anything going on with Snape after all. Maybe Narcissa had merely been messing with her. This was, oddly, a calming notion.

The feeling didn't last long.

As they were standing to depart, Narcissa leaned close to Hermione, and whispered in her ear.

"Whatever you think it is, it probably is." (Hermione's eyes widened.) "But let's not say anything to Draco. He'll only worry."

"Erm, uh, I..." Hermione stammered. "Alright."

Narcissa smiled, drew back, and let Severus help her with her coat. There was a noise, then, like a faint click. Hermione swiveled around to find the source, but saw nothing or no one out of the ordinary. They exited to the street.

"Don't be out too late, children. You never know who might be lurking."

"Heed your mother's warning," said Severus, sounding serious. "I hear things, and word is, there are a number of wizards and witches unhappy with 'Wham' at the moment."

"Because Kingsley has put the executions on hold?" asked Hermione.

The former professor nodded. "They're out for blood. They might not care whose they spill." He took Narcissa by the elbow and led her away, as it would be considered rude to apparate directly outside the door of the restaurant. They then disappeared with one POP, leaving Hermione and Draco in Diagon Alley, alone.

"It's nice they've become better friends," said Draco, holding his own arm out for Hermione to take. "I asked him to help with her shortly after Father's death. She was so miserable and I had no idea what to do, and he's done wonders for her."

"Oh?" said Hermione noncommittally. "I'm... glad. Draco?"

She was about to say more, but that clicking sound caught her ear again. Her eyes darted around and this time she found the source: a Daily Prophet reporter with a camera.

"What do you think you're doing?" snarled Draco, stepping forward, reaching for the camera.

"Confirming this," said the wizard. "Thanks!"

He disapparated before they could interrogate him further.

The next morning, the purpose of his pictures was clear.

MALFOYS MOVING ON read the headline. Above the article, the image of Draco and Hermione arm in arm, all dressed up. To the left of it, Severus helping Narcissa with her coat. But no mention that the four had been out together.

Hermione was infuriated by the invasion of privacy.

Draco was infuriated by the paper's suggestion that his mother and Severus Snape might be more than friends.

"He was being a gentleman, helping with her coat! That's when men do!" ranted Draco, throwing the paper into the fire. "To tell the world my mother is a... a... a..."

"A...?"

"They made it seem like she didn't even love Father, that she's moved on already! Well, she hasn't! She hasn't moved on! She was just starting to feel better, just starting to rejoin the land of the living, and this vulgar insinuation could set her back months! I'm going there. I'm going to the Prophet office this second to tell them off! I'll hex that reporter's bollocks into the next continent!"

"I'm supposed to have brunch with Harry, Ginny, and the group in under an hour," said Hermione, pulling on her socks. She'd spent the night in Draco's bed getting the most out of that expensive lingerie. They'd enjoyed a long lie-in before the paper arrived, and now she risked being late. "Given this, what should I tell them? What are we telling our friends... about us?"

This halted Draco, who was about to storm out despite wearing an incorrectly buttoned shirt and only one shoe.

"Our friends? You mean, yours. I don't have friends anymore. What are we telling people about us? We're..." He glared at the fireplace, where the paper had been reduced to ash. "I don't like how they called us 'young lovers.' It may be accurate, but it sounds... trite."

"I could tell them you're my boyfriend. You are, aren't you?" Aside from when she'd agreed to be his girlfriend, they'd not discussed labels or the particulars of their developing relationship.

"Yes." He strode to her, placed his hands on her hips, and kissed her. "Tell them the truth. As much of it you're comfortable with. Tell them... you could even tell them I might love you."

Hermione's mouth dropped as her eyebrows rose. She looked like a cartoon character.

"Do you?" she whispered once she'd recovered from the initial shock. "Do you love me?"

The hands on her hips slipped back to her arse as he drew her into him. "I might."

 _"Do_ you?"

"Do _you_ love _me_?"

"I asked you first. Don't answer my question with a question. You _might_ love me?"

"I fancy you."

"That's not love. Do you _love_ me?"

"What _is_ love?"

"I said, don't answer my question with a question, Malfoy." She bumped his pelvis with hers. "Do you love me?"

He sighed and met her brown eyes with his gray ones. She could see sincerity there, but insecurity too.

"One month ago, my mother said, if you want to be with her all the time, if your heart flutters when she's nearby, if you think it might kill you should misfortune come to her, and if you'd fall on a sword for her, you're in love."

"Let's go step by step to solve this riddle, then." She unbuttoned his last few buttons and began re-buttoning them properly as she spoke. "Do you want to be with me all the time?"

"I do."

"And does your heart flutter when I'm nearby?"

"It does."

"Do you think it might kill you, if someone were to kill me?" She smoothed down his collar.

"I think I'd kill your killer first," he answered honestly. "Fuck being anti-death penalty. I'd avenge you, then I'd let the pain of your loss kill me."

She smiled but tried to do so scoldingly. "Now, now, Mr. Malfoy. You _know_ we don't believe in that particular form of vengeance."

"I would fall on a sword for you, Hermione." He nestled against her neck, pressing his lips to her skin, letting her frizzy hair envelop him.

"In that case, I think your answer is clear." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, feeling his heartbeat through his chest, thumping in rhythm with her own. "I hereby diagnose you with a serious case of being in love. And what's more, it seems you've infected me with it as well."

"Because you're in love with me?" He squeezed her arse, thrusting against her, and both knew he wouldn't be making it to the Prophet office any time soon, nor would she be on time for brunch.

"I'm in love with you." She kissed him, a sweet, lingering kiss. Upon parting, he brushed back her hair and let the tip of his nose touch hers, their mouths mere centimeters apart.

"Good. I love you too."

And into bed they fell.

Meanwhile, Narcissa had gotten out of bed early that morning.

She'd gone to Hogsmeade to shop, feeling light and free and better than she had in a long time, not that she could say she was done grieving. Not at all. She'd had a terrible nightmare about Lucius and woken around three in the morning shaking and sobbing and wishing more than anything she could bring him back. But she no longer felt life had no point. She had her son, after all, and her friendship(?) with Severus, and her health (one glass of wine hadn't propelled her to want to get drunk or hurt herself, which she considered a personal victory) and she didn't even mind too much that the girl and her wicked cat were living at Malfoy Manor.

Because she'd left Malfoy Manor so early, she hadn't seen the Daily Prophet.

If she had, she would have stayed home.

And the devastating events of that afternoon never would have happened.

But first...

Severus nearly dropped his toast. There he was, top story in the gossipy society pages, photographed helping Narcissa into her coat.

His initial reaction was not to the content of the article, but to the image accompanying it.

 _Fuck, she looked good._

She'd been beautiful that night. Not that she wasn't always beautiful, but she looked particularly lovely all dressed up. He'd seen to it that she arrived home safely, even seen to it that she made it into bed safely, and it had taken not only willpower on both their parts but the well-timed (or ill-timed, dependent upon one's view of the situation) interruption of a certain flat-faced ginger cat to stop them from tearing each other's clothes off and going at it like bunnies.

Upon entering her room, she'd pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, attached at the lips, gyrating wantonly while his hands roamed from the back of her neck to the small of her back to the backs of her thighs. He flipped them over, putting her on her back, his hand on her breast under the material of her dress; it was the first time he'd touched her there, and he was pleasantly surprised to find she'd forgone a bra. A day later he could still taste her on his tongue. She'd tasted of wine, the white she drank and his red combined, and she smelled delicious, and her skin felt soft and smooth and welcoming. She'd rubbed him through his trousers, having quite the physical effect, and he was just reaching up her dress to pull down one of her stockings when he felt nails – not hers – sinking into his arse.

He yelped and jumped into the air, grabbing his injured derriere, where a fluffy tail was hanging...

"Ow! Get it off me!" he shouted. This scenario had seemed much funnier when it was _Draco_ in danger of losing his naughty bits to the claws of a crazy cat.

Narcissa grabbed Crookshanks around the waist and pulled but he only dug in deeper.

"Aquamenti!" Severus shouted. "Use Aquamenti!"

So she did, and once the water connected with his squashed face, the cat released his hold, hissed in their general direction, and darted back toward the fireplace and up the floo from whence he'd come. Apparently that was how he'd been escaping Hermione's bedroom.

And it was for this reason Severus did end up with his pants down in her presence for the first time, but it was not because she was doing to him any one of the dozens of things he'd been fantasizing over for months. It was because that was the best way for her to apply Essence of Dittany directly to his wounds.

"Stay still!" she'd scolded as he flinched away from the cloth in her hand. He was face down – cock down – on her mattress, his pale, naked arse in the air, wondering if he should've fought harder against her insistence that he let her help with the pain. Once she'd tended to all the cuts, he pulled his pants and trousers back up, now completely flaccid and not in 'the mood,' thus they awkwardly kissed goodnight before he headed for home.

Damn cat.

And now this.

 _Narcissa (Black) Malfoy, 44, made quite a show of being devastated by the loss of her husband, Lucius, then-45, last December, but it appears she's already transferred her affections to his fellow Death Eater and former friend, past Headmaster of Hogwarts Severus Snape, 39. The two were spotted getting cozy at intimate new restaurant Stargazer in Diagon Alley, the current hotspot of all those who are young, in love, and able to pay top galleon for a dinner. Though they are not in the same age bracket as most of Stargazer's A-list clientele, having inherited her dead husband's gold means payment is no object for the widow, thus it only remains to be seen whether the two are, in fact, in love._

 _"_ _They looked awfully friendly," said one patron who did not wish to be identified. "She sipped from his wine goblet and ate from his fork and he was looking her over like she were a gift he couldn't wait to unwrap. My husband and I don't even do that sort of thing in public and we've been married five years! Clearly, they're quite comfortable with the world knowing of their affair."_

"Quite comfortable!" snapped Severus, glaring down at the picture. As a matter of fact, he was quite _uncomfortable_. In multiple ways. His arse hurt despite the Dittany, he hated being fodder for a gossip column, he was worried about her reaction, and, for fuck's sake, he hadn't had sex in three years, three months, one week, and two days. Not that he was bloody counting.

A knock on his door surprised him. He hadn't sensed anyone coming near. It had to be Narcissa, having just seen the paper. He hurried to answer it.

It was Minerva.

"Severus, I know it's been some time, but could we talk? I'm worried about you."

"Certainly." Surprised, he led her through the book-lined secret doorway into his sitting room and offered her a glass of gillywater. "Why are you worried?"

"I'll come right out with it," she said, settled on the couch, glass in hand. He sat across from her on an armchair, grateful for the soft cushioning. "I saw the Prophet. I care about you. Dating Narcissa Malfoy, most assuredly an emotionally unavailable woman, after all you endured on account of your adoration of Lily Potter... do you really think it wise?"

Severus sighed.

At brunch, Hermione, too, was being questioned for her just-revealed relationship.

"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Draco 'the ferret' Malfoy? Mr. 'Wait 'Till My Father Hears About This,' _that_ Draco Malfoy?" sputtered Ginny. "You borrowed my dress, one of my best dresses, to go out with _him_? That loathsome toad? That pompous prat? That..."

"Ginny doesn't like him much," said Luna airily. "But I think it's sweet. He's reformed, isn't he? He was at the rally. He–"

Ginny cut her off. "He's only against the executions because his father was executed! If his side had won, he'd have seen nothing wrong with letting us all be killed! What were you thinking, going with him, Hermione?"

"Yeah," said Neville, who, like Ron, seemed to be in a state of shock. "I knew you were friends, obviously, but dating?"

"You don't know him," she started, but Ron, apparently breaking free from his trance, stood up and cut her off.

"This is because of me, isn't it? You're upset because we broke it off? Hermione, I'm sorry. When I moved on, I never expected you to run out and do this! It's just like sixth year, when you invited McLaggen to Slughorn's party to get at me. Well, it worked. It worked then and it's working now. Tell him it's over. Tell him you made your point." He exhaled and shook his head, looking as if about to do her a great but reluctant favor. "I'll take you back."

"You'll take me back?" Hermione stood too, slowly, and squared off against him across the breakfast table.

"Ohhh dear, this won't end well for him," said Luna.

"Big mistake," muttered Ginny with an agreeing nod.

"You? Will? Take? Me? Back?" Hermione repeated, over-emphasizing each word. Ron shrunk slightly, having realized he'd made a mistake.

"Mate," said Harry, nudging his best friend. "Say something."

"No," said Neville, shaking his head across the table. "You're safer not saying anything."

"Errr..." Ron shrugged, forcing a hopeful smile. "We're good for each other?"

"You... you... you rotten, self-absorbed, pigheaded, anti-academic tosser, you pressured me to do what you knew I didn't want to, then you cheated on me when you couldn't get what you wanted, you treated me badly, you've _always_ treated me badly, and now – now! – when I've found someone else, someone who respects and values and appreciates me, who cares about my thoughts and feelings and about making me happy, someone who doesn't expect me to not only put him first but to forget myself because its best for him, someone who doesn't belittle me for being smart and loving to learn, someone who is patient and genuinely reformed and kind, a man who learned to cook a complicated chocolate soufflé for me, now that I have _him,_ now _you're_ offering to take _me_ back?!" Her fists were gripping the sides of her skirt and shaking, her voice had risen in both volume and pitch with each line, and she was staring daggers at him.

He sank slowly back into his seat at the table, his mouth opened as if trying to catch flies, his entire face as red as his hair.

"So... no?"

"No. _No, thank you,_ Mr. Ronald Weasley. As enticing as your offer is, I would rather return to my cell in Azkaban for a period of no less than the rest of my natural born life than consent to letting _you_ take _me_ back!"

She flopped back down into her chair, reached for her full flute of champagne and orange juice, and downed the entire thing.

"Alright then," said Harry awkwardly, glancing from Ginny to Neville to Luna, but avoiding looking anywhere near Ron or Hermione. "Anyone for more eggs?"

Hermione was not the only one whose friends seem to think she was in need of intervention. Draco was just putting a small tray of meat pies into the oven when a house-elf entered the kitchen to inform him he had company.

A moment later, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson entered the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" pug-nosed Pansy giggled, pointing at his apron. "Does the Mudblood make you cook for her?"

"If you're here to insult my girlfriend, you can leave."

She balked. "Girlfriend? Then it's true? I thought... I reckoned the Prophet made it up! I mean, I saw the picture, but you weren't having a snog or anything, and she'd been your Mentor, so I thought..."

"I told you it was true," sneered Blaise, a tall, handsome boy, son of Zinnia. "I told you he was shagging the Mudblood. Why else would he have gone to Azkaban with her?"

"I mean it." Draco pointed his wand at them. "Use that word again and I'll have you evicted from the premises. Got it?"

"Have you been conked in the head? You're acting like you've gone stupid," grunted Goyle, an ironic criticism coming from him.

"How'd she get you, Draco?" asked Pansy, a vicious expression on her face. She thrust her hand in the air, imitating Hermione back at Hogwarts when trying to get a professor's attention. "Oh, pick me, pick me Draco, I know everything, I'll let you do whatever you want to me, since Potter's got no need for me now and Weasley's thrown me over for better-looking bints..."

"Why are you even here? I haven't heard from any of you in ages. Just turning up now to tell me you don't approve of my girlfriend? Well, here's a headline the Prophet should've printed: _Draco Malfoy Cares Fuck-All For the Opinions of His Former Friends._ How's that?"

"No need to be hostile," said Blaise calmly. "We understand. She's not hideous. I'd take her to bed if I didn't value blood-status and personality as much as appearance. But as my mother says, there are some girls you shag and some you marry, and you can't be seen in public with one no one should know you'd just shag."

Pansy bristled as Blaise's 'some you shag, some you marry' remark, and Draco was certain it was because she was still bitter on account of his lack of interest in marrying her.

"Your mother should know, too, shouldn't she?" asked Draco. "She's been married eight times. Tell me, her husbands, do they get to shag her once they're married, or do they jump right to the part where she offs them for their money?"

"That's never been proven!" Blaise's eyes flashed. Though his mother had a reputation for being a beautiful 'black widow,' as far as Draco knew, no one had ever outright accused her of being the reason four of her eight husbands met early deaths... and two more, elderly when she landed them, passed within a year of the wedding.

"It's just odd that she marries men in such poor health, isn't it?" Draco asked innocently. "Especially considering all their wealth... you'd think they could afford good Healers."

"Really? Having a go at my mother? You want to talk about mothers?" Blaise asked, losing the stoic facade. "What about yours then, out with Snape? Your father's body is barely cold and she's on her back for that greasy bat? Can't she land somebody better? Or is a traitorous half-blood who was run out of school the best she can do?"

"No, I reckon the _best_ she can do is _your mother_ ," Draco replied savagely. "But turns out she had your mum already, at a party fifteen years ago, and wouldn't want her now... now that everyone else has had her too."

There was a spark as Blaise sent a hex Draco's way, which was knocked off course when it collided with the one Draco sent back.

"Let's go," said Pansy, grabbing Blaise's arm and shooting a look at Goyle. "His status, his reputation, his family name, they're rubbish now. Why were we even trying to help? Who cares if he's with that ugly, uppity Muggle-born swot? Let him rot away the roots of his family tree with her."

"Thanks Pansy," Draco said sarcastically. "And I hope whatever wizard _you_ end up with is so chuffed to be with a fellow Pureblood he's able to overlook how disappointing you are in bed, because it would be a shame to see you throwing more of your family fortune away on keeping the bearers of his scattered bastards quiet."

This, Draco knew, had been the case with Pansy's parents. Her mother's family had a lot of money, but much of it went to pay for the results of her father's many indiscretions. (Draco had no idea that his father had, for a period of several years, been similarly blackmailed - though in Lucius' case, there were no other children.)

Pansy inhaled sharply several times, looking as though she couldn't decide whether to hex or punch him, before responding.

"I hope you marry her, Draco Malfoy! I hope you marry her, and I hope she has a child by you, and I hope by the time that child ready to go to school, Hogwarts rejects it, because our side has risen again and our new master, whoever he may be, stops offering admission to nasty, vile, dirty little abominations like the ones you'll have with her! I hope you have to watch her be executed just like your too-late-to-defect father, and I hope you find yourself ostracized and ruined and dying in the streets, trying to explain to your starving hellbound mongrel child why you thought it wise to go make a baby with a bloody _Mudblood_ in the first place!"

"Merlin's beard, Pansy," said Blaise, taken aback. It was clear from their expressions both he and Goyle thought she'd gone too far.

"Get. Out." Draco pointed his wand from them to the door. "Get out!"

With one last look at Draco, Blaise grabbed seething Pansy by the arm and steered her from the kitchen, down the hall, and out the door.

Goyle hung back. Draco glared at him. _"What?"_

"I didn't mean it," he said. "When I asked if you'd got conked on the head, I didn't mean it. I don't care if you're dating Granger. If you like her, and she likes you, that's what matters... Right?"

"Thanks, Goyle." Draco collapsed onto a kitchen chair, emotionally drained by the row. "Want to stay for a meat pie?"

"I'd like that."

At the exact moment Draco was pulling the meat pies from the oven, it was Narcissa's turn to be confronted.

By a woman she'd never met before. A woman who claimed to know all about her, however.

A ruthless woman. A cruel one.

And the exchange would make Narcissa question everything she loved and thought she knew.


	18. Devastation

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:**

 **DEVASTATION**

Narcissa hummed softly to herself as she shopped. She was in a lovely mood, a truly lovely mood, for the first time in a long time, despite the disaster with the half-kneazle the night before. She couldn't help chuckling to herself as she remembered how Severus had looked with the damn cat swinging from his backside while she went for her wand to perform "Aquamenti." Probably for the best, even though it had been an unwelcome interruption in the moment. She'd spent the entire night at dinner consumed by her confusing, growing feelings for him. She liked their casual flirtation, and especially liked that it went right over Draco's head, and, wicked as it may be, it amused her to see how the Muggle-born girl reacted when she brushed "dust" off his shoulder and ate from his fork. She enjoyed the attention.

She also enjoyed it when he grabbed her wrist firmly under the table, stopping her from scritching her long silver-painted nails any higher up his thigh, then leaned over and murmured in her ear, "There will be time for that later," in a scolding tone. She'd reacted with a self-satisfied grin while Hermione had looked rather uncomfortable and Draco, his nose still in the menu, hadn't suspected a thing.

Once they were back at Malfoy Manor, she'd practically jumped on him, pushing him into a seated position on the bed, straddling him, kissing him...

"It's not only because I need to feel," she'd whispered as his lips trailed down her neck to her shoulder. "It's because I want to feel _you."_

In response, he'd flipped them over and caressed her breast under the fabric of her dress and slid his hand up her leg to the top of her stocking, and if that mangy orange menace hadn't intervened, she was sure she'd have actually ended up naked and writhing under the former professor... something she may have regretted in the morning, as already she felt a bit guilty, as if by desiring another man she was being unfaithful to her perfect husband, blemishing her perfect marriage. Thus it was good, ultimately, that the vicious furball managed its way into her room and sunk its claws into her would-be lover.

And yet... she'd been disappointed to see him leave. She did not enjoy sleeping alone. Not that she'd spent the entire night alone - she'd awoken around three in the morning to find fucking Crookshanks (a stupid name for a cat) curled up by her feet. Purring.

So despite the awkward ending to an otherwise enchanting evening, she was in a great mood. Now she was stocking up on various potions ingredients for Severus. He'd finally been approved for his Gringotts loan and told Narcissa what the money was for – he wanted to open his own specialized apothecary, not to sell ingredients, but full of concoctions he'd brewed that deviated from the norm, thus making them more potent, longer-lasting, or better tasting. He wouldn't accept galleons from her, but in addition to seed money, he'd need 'seed' materials, and surely he wouldn't be impolite enough to refuse a gift.

"Narcissa? Narcissa Malfoy?"

Narcissa turned. She vaguely recognized the woman who'd addressed her, but came up blank for a name.

"Hello?"

"It's been a long time. I attended a Christmas party at Malfoy Manor once. I was on the Hogwarts Board of Governors with Lucius in the early '90s."

"Oh, yes, of course." Narcissa made no effort to sound _particularly_ pleasant as this woman meant nothing to her, but she wasn't going to be rude either. "Well, nice to have seen you." She forced a smile, nodded, and turned away, intending to continue shopping.

"Wait! I've wanted to speak with you for years."

"With me?" Narcissa turned back, raising one thin eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

"Your husband and I were... friends."

The way the woman said 'friends' put Narcissa instantly on edge. She knew all of his friends. His friends included Severus, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Avery, Runcorn, Rowle, and Baxter. And their wives. But he'd never mentioned this woman to her. Narcissa looked her over. She was nearly as slender as Narcissa but more buxom than Bella at her heaviest. She had long legs and curved hips and looked perhaps thirty years of age, with hazel eyes, auburn hair, and a summer tan. Narcissa narrowed her eyes.

She wasn't ugly.

"That's nice," Narcissa said after a beat. "I _would_ tell Lucius I'd run into you, but as you may not have heard, he's passed away." She reached for a jar of something she didn't need, just to make it clear she intended to continue shopping, but not continue the conversation.

"Oh, I know. My condolences." The woman moved a little closer. "After he died, I had to get a job. I couldn't pay rent without the galleons he'd been sending me every month since January, 1992."

"Excuse me?"

She definitely had Narcissa's attention now.

"Blythe Willow." The woman stuck out her hand, a fake smile plastered across her face. Narcissa did not shake hands with her. "We were _more_ than friends, actually, your husband and me."

"That's a lie." Narcissa held so tightly to the basket of ingredients her knuckles went white.

"For six glorious months, starting the summer of '91."

"You're lying."

"He approached me after a board meeting one night, practically threw himself at me. I tried to turn him away, but he was relentless in his pursuit."

This, in fact, was a lie, and thanks to Legilimency Narcissa knew it. Unfortunately, Legilimency also told her the first two things were not. But it didn't make sense. Yes, Lucius had pulled away a little then, but she had too. They'd both struggled with sending their only child away to school. It had been one of the few rocky times they'd experienced in their marriage, but he'd never stopped loving her, and she would've known if he'd been having an affair... wouldn't she?

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I miss the money." The woman pouted out her lip and widened her eyes, as if playing the ingenue... or the victim. "But a reporter from the Daily Prophet has offered me some to tell my side. He's writing a book about the private lives of You-Know-Who's top Death Eaters, which would include, of course, _you,_ your husband, your sister and your son."

"Keep away from my son."

"The reporter has offered me a _significant_ amount to speak on record, but for a slightly greater amount, I could tell him to bugger off, to write the book without me, to go without the intimate details he so desperately seeks."

Narcissa straightened her spine and resisted the urge to scratch at the scarring hidden by her left sleeve, a nervous tic she'd developed. "Sod off. Any number of pathetic slags could falsely claim to have been with my husband. Why should I pay you to keep your mouth closed when I know all you'd be spewing is rubbish anyway?"

"Is it rubbish?" Blythe Willow moved closer to Narcissa, dropping her voice. "The first time we were together, Mrs. Malfoy, he had a deep bruise, just here..." She tapped a spot high on her inner thigh. "Clearly made by teeth marks. He said the two of you enjoyed engaging in... _questionable_ foreplay at times. Liked it a little rough, did you? So did he."

Narcissa clenched both her free fist and her teeth, her other hand now holding the basket so tightly her fingers felt like they might fall off.

"He used to like me on my knees... he said you wouldn't do that, you found it _degrading._ You would only use your mouth on him if he were lying flat and you were over him, or side-by-side, not if he were standing and you were kneeling and he was pulling your hair... isn't that right?"

"You're delusional," said Narcissa, but it was painful getting the words out, as she felt vomit might follow them. She and her husband had a wonderful sex life – at least, she'd always thought they had – but it was true that was one thing she wouldn't do. She'd seen too many women relegated to that position as the Dark Lord's reward for competent Death Eaters, thus wanted no reminder of it in their bedroom.

"He must have kept you satisfied. I only had him once or twice a week during those six months and he usually left me barely able to walk the next day. How very limber you must be..."

"He loved me." Narcissa's voice cracked on the second word. "Me and only me."

Blythe Willow's grin grew, spread so far across her face she almost looked as though she'd unhinged her jaw, like Nagini before going in for the kill.

"I'm talking about sex, Mrs. Malfoy, not love. I won't deny that he loved you... but he loved fucking me. The night of that Christmas party, we did it in the pantry off your kitchen. That was our last time, actually. And when the affair was over, he made sure I was set to live for the rest of his life – the payments even continued when he was in Azkaban that first time – but now the money is gone, and I need more."

"You won't get it from me," Narcissa spat. Her stomach was swirling. In the kitchen off her pantry? During a Christmas party she'd thrown? 1991. What was she so consumed with during their annual Christmas party in 1991 that she didn't notice her husband sneaking away with some slag?

"If I don't get it from you, I'll tell that reporter _all about_ how your husband was getting _it_ from _me."_

Narcissa set the basket down on a low table beside a miniature cauldron advertised as 'coming soon.' She needed a moment. A moment to process. A moment to breathe. A moment to fall down and die, because this was killing her. She reached up her sleeve for her wand but did not draw it. She steeled herself, using Occlumency to suppress her emotions as much as possible, but involuntary Legilimency had images flashing across her mind... images from the memories of this vulgar woman... images of this woman with her perfect Lucius.

"You did _not_ have an affair with my husband. That bite mark you claimed to have seen proves nothing. I never bit him." This, of course, was untrue. "You could have seen the pantry on your own during that party to which all those on the Hogwarts Board of Governors were invited. You have no proof of an affair and if you try to tell that reporter otherwise I'll have you sued for defamation."

The other woman cackled, a sound that made the fine hairs on Narcissa's unburned arm rise along with those on the back of her neck.

"Oh, Mrs. Malfoy, but of course I can _prove_ it. To you, at least. He had a jagged scar along his back, the remnants of a punishment inflicted by You-Know-Who during the First War. He had soft blond chest hair, a shade lighter than that on his head, that ran all the way down to his pants. He had three freckles that could be the points of a triangle on his taut lower abdomen..." She lowered her voice even more, grinning cruelly. "And, when hard, his perfectly straight penis was approximately seven-and-three-quarter inches long, and this wide..." (She made an O with her index finger and thumb.) "He liked to finish in my mouth, and he tasted of..."

Before the witch could finish her sentence, she found herself against the wall of the apothecary, held in place by a hand gripping her throat. She grasped at the wrist and arm of her attacker and tried to call for help, but found herself unable to properly breathe as the purlicue of an unfamiliar hand crushed her windpipe.

"Stop talking," demanded the dark-haired, wild-eyed woman who'd flung herself at Blythe Willow. "If you say one more word to my sister, it shall be the last word you ever say."

Narcissa's hands flew to her mouth.

The dark-haired witch slightly lessened her grip, but did not release the witch. "Understand?"

"Can't... breathe..."

 _"Understand?"_

"Yessss..."

The dark-haired witch slid her hand from Blythe's neck to her chest, grabbing her by the front of her blouse instead.

"You'd have to be heartless to torment a widow in this way. Shall we cut open your chest to check if it's empty?"

"I... she... her husband..."

"Shut your mouth about her husband. He's not your business, bitch."

"But I... I thought..." It was difficult for Blythe Willow to talk. She massaged her throat as she coughed out her words. "I thought you were dead!"

"Common misconception," said the witch, glaring down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "And now that you know the truth, stay the fuck away from my sister, her son, and her husband's memory... or you'll regret it."

She turned, grabbed Narcissa by the arm, and disapparated them.

When they materialized again, they were in an alleyway off Horizont Alley. The dark-eyed witch released her sister, combed her fingers through her wild hair, and sneered.

"I can't believe that brainless twat thought I was Bellatrix. She's dead and I'm considerably better looking."

"Andromeda," whispered Narcissa, shocked by this close proximity to her sister, who did, unarguably, greatly resemble Bella, even more so now than when they were teenagers. _"Why?"_

"I heard how she was talking to you. It was _disgusting._ Fuck her!" Andromeda looked her sister over. This was the nearest they'd been to each other in over twenty-five years. She looked good, considering. But Andromeda certainly wouldn't tell her so. "Well. Goodbye."

"No!" Narcissa threw her arms around Andromeda, enveloping her in a tight hug. Andromeda simply stood still, her arms down by her sides, not only because they were hardly close, but because she was not much of a hugger in general.

"This is awful," said Andromeda. "Stop touching me."

"Please don't go," Narcissa whispered.

"Piss off, you self-absorbed dust mite. Release me."

"Just hug me, you unfeeling cow, I need it."

Andromeda gave in with a sigh, awkwardly patted her sister on the back, and said, "There, there. This is nice. Let go, now. That's a good girl." As soon as she was able, she extracted herself from the embrace, delicately backing away from Narcissa as one would a child with sticky hands. Narcissa rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, smearing eyeliner across her cheeks.

"That woman... She... she and Lucius... do you reckon...?"

"I could read you from across the shop," interjected Andromeda, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and using it to wipe Narcissa's black-streaked face. "I could feel your pain before I even knew it was you I was feeling and you know what it felt like? It felt like losing my fucking husband all over again. Like having my heart ripped from my chest and set on fire. I almost left and went home, but then I stepped around the spiders' eggs display and saw you, and I heard her, and I realized I felt that way because I was feeling what you were feeling, and then I wanted her to hurt as I hurt and as you were hurting. Don't misunderstand, I have no use for you and had even less for that self-involved snake you married, but you're my sister, and I'll be damned if I stand idly by while some whore tries to extort money from you by capitalizing on your devastation."

"I love you!" Narcissa, feeling quite emotional in the moment, was battling the urge to hug her sister again, even though she'd just been told the woman had 'no use' for her.

"Oh, stop it, Cissy, you empty-headed blood bigot. You don't."

"I do too! I love you, you cynical sack of long-suffering snark!" This was how they'd addressed each other all through childhood, with insults sandwiched between words of affection. (It wasn't until Andromeda was a married mother herself she understood how bizarre this was.) "I mean it. I love you, Meda."

"This is not a bloody reconciliation," snapped Andromeda. "I took up for you because she was a loathsome toad and I despise women like that, but I still hate you."

"No you don't. You love me. If you hated me, you wouldn't have felt my pain as your own pain. I love you and you love me because you're my big sister and I'm your baby sister and you love me." Narcissa couldn't hold back any longer. She wrapped her arms around Andromeda again, clinging tightly to her, like a baby koala to its mother.

This time, the elder witch simply sighed, rolled her eyes, and returned the hug before wriggling free.

"I'm sorry for what she said." Andromeda returned the handkerchief to the pocket of her dress. "I'm sorry it's the truth. I'm sorry you had no idea. No one wants to find out that way."

"I just don't understand. Why would he cheat on me? I was nothing but good to him. He was my whole world."

"Why does anyone cheat?" asked Andromeda, resigning herself to the fact that she had, quite accidentally and however unwillingly, indeed initiated reconciliation with her sister. She stepped back but let Narcissa continue to hold her hands. "Let's go have a drink somewhere, Cissy. I haven't gotten pissed in almost two years, but I feel like I could use it today."

 _August, 1998._

 _The 25th wedding anniversary of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy._

 _One half of the couple spent it in Azkaban prison._

 _It was Lucius' second time as a prisoner there. His second time missing an anniversary that should have been spent with his beloved wife at their Wiltshire home, the first being two years prior, in 1996._

 _That day, he'd spent the entire twenty-four hour period worrying about her. He worried about what the Dark Lord and other Death Eaters were doing to her. Was she being tortured? Raped? He couldn't live with himself if his failure in the Department of Magic had gotten her raped. Or murdered. Would the Dark Lord be angry enough to murder her for his actions? Surely Bellatrix wouldn't allow that. She was a sick and devoted witch, but fiercely protective of her baby sister all the same, much more so than she'd ever been with Andromeda, with whom she'd once been close._

 _On their 25th anniversary, he worried about Narcissa again, but not about what others would do to her. He worried about what she would do to herself. She'd been hurting herself for months. She thought he didn't know, but he knew. He saw the burns, the scarring. He heard her crying in the shower. Despite his own issues with alcohol and depression, he was not blinded to her pain. He could see how emaciated she'd become. She hardly ever fixed her hair anymore, just as he hardly ever shaved. Some days, she didn't bother to get dressed. He couldn't recall when he'd last seen her with lipstick. But it didn't matter. Even in a nightgown with unwashed, uncombed hair, and not a stitch of makeup to cover any of the imperfections she claimed to see in the mirror that he could never spot, he thought she was the most beautiful woman to ever live._

 _Why, then, had he nearly thrown everything away back in 1991?_

 _Blythe Willow was on the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Not because she deserved to be, but because her father died with fourteen months left on his three-year tenure. It was customary, if someone died mid-term, for a spouse or close relative to sit their place until the next election, thus she'd joined. She was twenty-three years old, buxom and leggy, and she'd flirted with him from first sight. He was over thirty-seven, already worried about the impending Big 4-0, and had recently spotted his first hideous gray hairs. Almost forty. His father had been died at fifty. He could be entering into his last decade. Somewhere around thirty-five, women stopped throwing themselves at him. He'd gone from having to turn them away to wondering why they were no longer interested. And then, while out to lunch with this wife one afternoon, he'd caught her glancing over a handsome young waiter. She didn't eye the man in an obscene way, nor did she comment on his appearance, but she'd_ looked _at him. He'd never seen her look at another man before. Not like that. Not ever._

 _That night she'd asked him if he thought they were too old to try again for another child. They'd given up after that horrible second-trimester miscarriage four years before. He'd then had a procedure to keep him from getting her pregnant again because the Healers said another pregnancy could be dangerous for her. Suddenly, she wanted a second opinion. Suddenly, she wanted to have his procedure reversed. Suddenly, she was again set on having a baby, potential dangers be damned, and she wanted to know if he wanted one too._

 _But he didn't. Not with an eleven-year-old about to leave for Hogwarts. Not with a son two-thirds of the way to adulthood already. Not knowing the dangers._

 _"I'm sorry," he told her. "But yes, I think we're too old."_

 _Too old, going gray, catching his wife looking at waiters, and living with the knowledge he might only live another twelve years, like his father. Bloody hell._

 _Though he hid it behind a mask of false bravado and a bit of bullying, he was, for the first time in his life, lacking self-confidence._

 _Until_ she _came around._

 _Three months after making his initial acquaintance, she convinced him to join her for a drink in Hogsmeade post-Board meeting. She then spent the duration of their time at the bar touching him in increasingly intimate ways, starting with patting his arm, and eventually letting her hand rest above his knee. She was flirtatious and friendly and had a habit of sucking on her lower lip when he was speaking, which drew his view there, and made his mind... wander._

 _"What do you want from me, Miss Willow?" he'd asked point-blank as the bartender shouted, "Last call!"_

 _"I'll be candid, Mr. Malfoy. I find you attractive. More than attractive. I've been having the most delicious dreams about you for months... and I'd like to turn them into reality." She stood as if to go, but slipped a key into his hand as she pressed a platonic-seeming kiss to his cheek. "I'm staying in Room 7 above the Three Broomsticks. I'm heading to bed shortly and I like to sleep naked... but I won't be asleep for some time. Perhaps you'll surprise me with a visit later tonight?"_

 _Without awaiting his response, she was off._

 _He sat at the bar nursing his fourth and final firewhiskey of the evening, contemplating the offer. He'd never entertained a desire to be unfaithful to Narcissa. Not once. He'd never seriously considered being with another woman. Not even when they'd whispered to each other all the things they'd do were they to invite another woman into their bed – it had always been fantasy and nothing more. He'd once responded to a too-forward female by telling his son not to seek out free coal when you've got a diamond waiting at home..._

 _But, at home, his diamond was hyper-focused on anything_ but _him since he said no to a new baby. She was now entirely wrapped up in their son, wanting to monopolize the boy's every waking minute until he left from Platform 9_ ¾ _. He was growing up, their only child, and there would be no more. Soon, in the Manor, it would be only him and Narcissa, alone, forever, sitting around staring at each other, missing their boy, missing their youth. Her with her love of shopping and parties, and him with his gray hair and the damnedest crick in his knee whenever he took the stairs too fast._

 _Blythe Willow was twenty-three years old, with long legs and huge tits, quite possibly willing to do a few potentially degrading things he hadn't wanted to try with his wife..._

 _No, he'd never cheated before, never even seriously considered it..._

 _But now, with the key in his palm and an uncomfortable tug in his groin,_ _he was wondering what it would be like..._

 _He was wondering._

When Narcissa returned home hours later, she was stumbling and slurring her words _._ Severus was waiting for her in the parlor; a house-elf had let him in earlier.

"What the fuck, _Ss_ everu _ss_ _Ss_ nape?" She said his name like a Parselmouth might, with too much emphasis on each _S_. As usual when assessing a questionable situation, he cocked one eyebrow.

"Narcissa. You're pissed."

"Piss off!" She tossed her light satin traveling cloak and handbag to the floor.

"I'm assuming you've seen the Prophet?" He reckoned this was about the article printed with their picture from the night before. She shook her head.

"Fuck the Prophet. My husband fucked around on me and you fucking knew about it you fucking... fuck. Fucker. Fucking... fuh..." Her voice trailed off as she lost her train of thought. (Severus didn't know it, but at her own home, Andromeda Tonks was in exactly the same state. Harry had gone by to drop off Teddy, but ultimately hadn't felt comfortable leaving the toddler alone with her.)

"Excuse me?" said Severus. She did not initially reply. Rather, they stared at each other, him still sitting, her standing, swaying slightly. Then she threw herself down on the couch, kicked off her shoes, and screamed into a throw pillow... which she subsequently heaved at Severus. He caught it before it made contact with his face.

"He fucked a woman named Blythe Willow for six months. He told her things about me, about us. Private things. He did things to her... he let her do things to him... that I... She must be fifteen years younger than I am. She could almost be our child!"

"What makes you think..."

"She came at me in the athop... thapoth... thapotha..."

"Apothecary?"

"Apothecary. She told me _everything._ She told me what he looked like naked. She said she'd been paid to keep quiet about it."

"She could have been lying."

"No!" she glared accusingly at him. "I went to Gringotts. They confirmed it. Lucius spent years - _years!_ \- paying off that home-wrecking whore, and for the year he was in prison, _you_ took over our finances, because Draco was not yet of age. _You_ took over and _you_ paid, which means you _knew!"_

Severus swore under his breath. He hadn't liked doing Lucius that favor during his incarceration, but he had because he wanted to protect both Narcissa and Draco. And because Lucius was his friend.

"Since Lucius died, our funds have been under Draco's control, and her payments were stopped. But for a year, Severus Snape, for a whole _fucking_ year, _you_ took gold from my husband's vault and paid his mistress for her silence. And you _lied_ to me!"

"I did not lie to you," he said calmly, using Occlumency not only to keep a blank face, but to keep her out of his thoughts. "You asked whether I thought what the Prophet had printed back in December was true. I said I did not think so, and that's not a lie. I do not believe Lucius had multiple affairs..."

"He had one!" she shrieked before succumbing to sobs. "If he had one, he may as well have had a hundred! How should I know?"

"He didn't!" Severus knelt on the floor beside the couch. She rolled onto her back, facing the ceiling, as broken as she'd been eight months ago. "I promise, he didn't."

"How could you keep it from me?" she asked weakly. "How could you hurt me like this?"

"Narcissa..." He smoothed her hair away from her face and wiped her tears with his sleeve. "I'm sorry you're hurting, but I'm _not_ sorry I kept it from you, and I genuinely do _not_ for a moment believe that Lucius had _multiple_ affairs. The one in which he did engage he regarded as the worst mistake of his life, worse than following the Dark Lord, worse than his foul-up at the Ministry, and that was _before_ he feared getting caught. She was furious when he dropped her and vindictive too. He offered her money so she wouldn't out him to you."

"She threatened to out him to me? That's why he paid her off? Not because she would tell the papers?"

"He didn't give a broken Bludger about the papers. He didn't want her to hurt _you._ He didn't want what he did to hurt _you."_

"Well, it did. It _does!_ It hurts me. My head hurts and my hearts hurts! And know what's the worst fucking part, Severus?" She sat up to face him, her hands clasped over her heart. Her eyes were bloodshot both from the liquor and from the crying.

"What is the worst part?" he asked gently.

She took his face between her cold palms, her graceful fingers delicately set at his temples. "I can't even confront him over it. I can't even tell him how angry I am, how disa... disssa... _disappointed._ I can't do a bloody thing about it. I can't even get good and furious at him because I love him too damn much and he's gone. He's gone and I... and I... I feel _stupid._ I thought he _loved_ me!"

"He _did_ love you."

"And I want to be angry with _you,_ too." She brushed back his hair, looking directly into his eyes, and the pain in hers made him want to weep with her. "I wish I could hex you six ways from Sunday for keeping it from me, but I also need to thank you because had I known then, had you told me the truth back when I was as fragile as I was at Christmastime, I think I would've just killed myself. I really do." She pushed up her left sleeve and dug her fingernails into the burn marks there, seemingly without even realizing she was doing it. "I'd already given so much thought to how to do it, and that would have been the... the last straw, and I... and I... I think I wish I'd done it!"

It caused physical pain in his chest to hear her talk this way, especially as she'd been doing so well over the last few months. He took hold of her arm, moved away her other hand, and gently pressed his lips to the remaining scars. He wished he could kiss away her pain, but knew such a thing was impossible.

She closed her eyes.

"And if you hadn't paid her during the year he was in Azkaban, she might have told me then, when I was living in fear of losing Draco every day, and it might have been meant the last of me - I might have literally _died_ from a combination of stress and a broken heart. So I hate that I can't even hate you for keeping it from me because I know you did it to protect me and when I feel less betrayed by both of you I think I might even thank you but I can't thank you now because I'm too fucking angry at the whole bloody world." Her shoulders heaved and the sobbing started again. She barely managed to choke out one final desperate question:

"How could he _do_ that to me?"

Severus climbed onto the couch and pulled her into his arms, like a child, cradling her against his chest with her legs slung sideways over his lap. He held her and rocked her and stroked her hair and tried to convince himself he wasn't falling completely in love with her, while she sobbed and suffered with the realization that her perfect marriage was not so perfect - and if that book made it to print, everyone in their entire world would know.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I wasn't sure about putting in some of Lucius' perspective, but I was hoping to humanize him. This will, unfortunately, set Narcissa and Severus' relationship back a bit, but ultimately, having everything out in the open should help them more forward, too. Sorry there was no Hermione and Draco in this chapter! The next one is pretty Narcissa-heavy too, but _wayyyyyy_ less depressing, then 20 and 21 are more about the young folks. Also, the Wizengamot/W.W.A.M.M. stuff _will_ come up again. There are 30 chapters total, so we're over halfway through.

Thanks so much for reading and especially for reviewing! I hugely appreciate every single one.

 **-AL :)**

 **PS:**

If you're following All Roads Lead to Rome, I'm sorry. I have been working for two weeks on the next chapter, but I had deviated too far from my original outline, thus I had to redo it all, and I have not managed to come up with the Chapter Fifteen that I am happy with, which is the reason for the continued delay. My hope is to have it up by Monday night, Eastern Standard Time. I have restarted it and am 1400 words in with something I think can actually work and I have a new outline for the rest, so I'm choosing to think positively that it'll fall into place! Thanks for your patience!


	19. Perspective

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER NINETEEN:**

 **PERSPECTIVE**

The day Andromeda accidentally reunited with her younger sister, she got pissed for the first time in almost two years. She'd been sober for 23 months, and she threw that sobriety away.

She could only imagine what Ted or Nymphadora would say if they were still alive. They'd both invested so much of themselves in helping her to stay away from liquor over the years, but staying straight was a constant struggle, one at which she did not always succeed. She'd started drinking in her late teens, but did not start heavily drinking until her late twenties. Then, when Nymphadora was in her first year at Hogwarts, Ted checked Andromeda quite involuntarily into a rehabilitation center in France where Healers focused on breaking the dependence on both liquor and potions.

She'd managed to keep off the whiskey for a decade after that, but slowly fell off the wagon. A glass of wine here, a shot of Gigglewater there, and by the time her daughter announced her pregnancy she was in the habit of getting drunk once or twice per week, which, as far as her daughter was concerned, was once or twice too many.

So she detoxed again. For the baby.

And then her husband died. And she wanted to drink. But she couldn't. Because she needed to help her daughter, practically a single mother, with the baby.

And then her daughter died. And she wanted to drink. But she couldn't. Because someone had to raise the baby.

Alone.

When Harry arrived to drop off Teddy, now a bubbly sixteen month old with his mother's knack for turning his hair pink thanks to the Metamorphmagus condition he'd inherited, Andromeda was on her back on her couch, feeling sick and dizzy.

She told Harry to leave Teddy in his crib, that she would tend to him soon, but he hadn't felt comfortable, so he packed a bag for the boy and brought him to stay at Grimmauld Place for a few days until she could get herself together. And she vowed never to drink again.

Which is why she didn't mind when her sister, sitting across from her in the parlor of Malfoy Manor, apologized because their only options were water, coffee, or tea.

"My son and Severus have removed all of the alcohol from the premises because they think I have a problem," Narcissa said bitterly. It was the end of August, the first time she and Andromeda had seen each other since their initial encounter in Diagon Alley in early July, and the first time Andromeda had ever been to Malfoy Manor.

"Tea is all I can take anyway." Andromeda added in a tone just as bitter, "I've had a problem with liquor in the past."

"Mostly wine for me," confessed Narcissa. "I started drinking until I can't feel."

"For me, whiskey. I used to drink myself unconscious."

"I blame Mother," said Narcissa. "She was an alcoholic too. It's in our blood. She poisoned us before we were born. We couldn't escape it."

" _I_ blame Mother," said Andromeda. "She's the reason I became an alcoholic. Her obsession with blood purity was a poison, and the pain of being raised by a woman like that prompted me to seek escape."

"Bellatrix didn't drink." Narcissa wasn't sure whether it was alright to bring up their older sister, since she was the one who killed Nymphadora, thus she spoke tentatively. "She was afraid to be dependent on anything, she said. Funny coming from a woman so blindingly obsessed with a madman."

"She smoked like a chimney."

"Only before Azkaban, not after."

"I'd rather be a fall-down drunk than be anything like the murderous monster." Andromeda glared toward the window, arms crossed protectively over her chest. Narcissa knew that part of their conversation was now over. She summoned and sent a house-elf for tea. While they waited for it, the sisters stared awkwardly at each other, both unsure of where to go from here. It hadn't been easy for Narcissa to convince Andromeda to come. She'd been sending her letters for weeks that, at first, went unanswered, and then, finally, the first week in August, she received a reply:

 _Mrs. Malfoy,_

 _Quit sending me owls, you needy little gnome. Can't you take a hint? I have no interest in a rekindled relationship with you, despite being kin. Seek new friends. I'm certain, if you try hard enough, you can find one person out there who likes you for your personality. And if that is but an unrealistic dream, try instead for someone who likes you for your body or your money, since you still have a decent one of the former and an abundance of the latter. I, unfortunately, have not got use for either. You're not my type and I don't take hand-outs._

 _–_ _Mrs. Tonks_

Narcissa had written back promptly.

 _Andromeda,_

 _If you had any manners, you'd have responded to my first letter, thus saving me the additional parchment and ink and yourself the annoyance of multiple correspondence, you uncultured swine. As for my personality, if you'd acquiesce to becoming better acquainted with me, you'd learn that I am a lovely, intelligent, and witty person, as pleasant to be around as I am beautiful. This, of course, means you and I have absolutely nothing in common beyond blood, but I'm willing to build off of that. _

_Many hugs,_

 _–_ _Cissy_

Andromeda had replied a day later.

 _Narcissa,_

 _You'll have to excuse me, Princess Python. We weren't all raised to hold decorum above common sense. (And you're too damn old to call yourself 'Cissy.') Piss off. _

_Respectfully yours,_

 _-Andromeda_

Narcissa responded straight away.

 _Dearest Andromeda, Queen of the Bitches_

 _We were raised with the same values, remember? Is it on me if you neglected your lessons in propriety and proper etiquette? Mother, could she see you now, would be rolling in her grave. And though I'm only twenty-two months your junior, I look a decade younger, thus I believe I can use 'Cissy' for another dozen years at least. As an aside, and I mean this in the nastiest way possible, I genuinely miss you._

 _-your beautiful baby sister, Cissy_

Andromeda, at this point secretly looking forward to the letters, had promptly written back:

 _My mediocre-looking-at-best baby sister, Cissy,_

 _I hope Mother is burning while she rolls, but I have my doubts Hades would even have her in Hell. Surely he'd worry she'd be after his job. As for this continuing attempt at reconciliation, why so persistent, little sister? Did I not tell you that our alcohol-fueled cry-fest last month was a one-off? We have nothing in common – beyond blood, as you wrote previously – and thus have no reason to further communicate. In short, I hate you. And I especially hate your stupid nickname, which I maintain is too young for you, regardless of how old you think you look (and, quite frankly, you flatter yourself). But I will consent to liking the scent of that last letter. Did you spray it with perfume? Perhaps I would be willing to see you again if you promised to share the bottle with me. Not that you've ever been adept at sharing. That said, as much as I am reluctant to compliment you, you've always been one to smell pleasant, unlike Bella, who reeked of cigarettes and cheap shampoo and utter madness. I suppose, of the two of you, I despise you less, so that's something. _

_–_ _Andromeda_

Narcissa had smiled upon receiving that letter, the first sign she was truly making headway.

 _Meda,_

 _We have every reason to communicate. Neither of us has much left in the way of family. We've lost both of our wicked, spiteful parents - may they rest in peace - and that oversexed human Dementor they birthed before us, plus you've lost your daughter, and though I have my son and you have your grandson, we're most unfortunately widows, which is, as you know, incredibly isolating. Additionally, only you and I know what our collective childhood experiences were and so only you and I can help each other make sense of them. Regarding the perfume, as I frequently told my perfect, handsome son when he was a child, "Sharing is caring." Ha. Kidding. The truth is, I hate to share as much now as I did as a child. But if you were kind enough to me, I might be persuaded to give you what's left in the bottle. And no, to be clear, I did not spray it with perfume, the perfume spilled in my drawer and got on the parchment. The scent is lilac._

 _-Cissy_

 _PS: Come see me?_

And though Andromeda had nearly written back _NO_ in large black letters, something came over her, and she agreed to meet one afternoon in late August, at Malfoy Manor, while Teddy was with his godfather.

Once they had their tea in hand, they tried to settle into comfortable conversation, but it was difficult.

"Are you still coping with the knowledge your husband had an affair?" Andromeda asked casually, setting her tea on her saucer between sips, someone out of place as this was the first formal tea she'd sat in some time.

"Not so much coping as suffering, yes. I wish I could confront him. I wish I could understand it." Narcissa felt guilty opening up about this, but also good. She'd only been able to discuss it with Severus thus far, which put them both ill at ease, as it was becoming increasingly clear he saw her as more than a friend... though she had no idea how she should see him... though they hadn't done anything physical together, not even kiss, since the night of the cat attack.

"If I make a confession to you, will I have your word it won't leave this room?" Andromeda tilted up her chin, assessing her sister. She was also utilizing Occlumency, what little she'd learned of it, to keep Narcissa at bay just in case the woman could not be trusted, but her gut feeling told her she could. At least about this.

"Absolutely." Narcissa held out a small tray. "Scone?"

"In a moment." Andromeda set her tea down on the tiny table between them. "Narcissa... _I_ had an affair."

"What?!" She jolted, spilling several drops of her tea, and looked her over with a picture of complete puzzlement on her face. Clearly this was not what Narcissa had expected her sister to say. "I thought you loved your... Ted Tonks. You told me, last month, that he was the only man you'd ever loved, that you..."

"All that was true. This is painful for me, so please let me say it before you interrupt again."

"Sorry. Please, go on."

"I had an affair starting in 1978, when Nymphadora was five. It lasted nearly a year from first flirtation to breakup, but we only slept together for about eight of those months. He started as a friend. A nice man, also married, with four children under ten and a pregnant wife. He was bored and frustrated at home."

Narcissa bit her lip. It was killing her not to ask questions... not to pass judgment.

"I married young, as you did. I loved Ted, I was very much in love with him, but we ran away together to get married before sixth year ended because I was terrified Mother would force me into an early marriage with Rabastan Lestrange. I had already... I had been pregnant, and if she knew..." Andromeda's expression hardened. "Bella had an abortion, you know. She didn't want to, but it was not her choice, and Mother rushed her into marriage with Rodolphus immediately thereafter even though the child hadn't been his and the courtship was hardly underway. She wanted both of us rushed into marriage too. I'm shocked she let your courtship last as long as it did, but I reckon she was bound by customs – the Malfoys would not have been as quick to consent to an expedited process as the Lestranges. I imagined she watched both of you very closely, however."

Narcissa nodded. "We were _never_ alone, even when we felt like we were, we knew a house-elf was always watching. Our first kiss was on our wedding day. He's the only man I've ever... you know." She blushed. Andromeda did not seem surprised at all by this admission.

"Bellatrix got pregnant in the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts one week before the end of sixth year. She didn't even like the boy, but she hated the rules and the whole importance placed on 'virtue' more. She was already scheduled to be married but didn't like the notion that her virginity was our parents' to give away, to be taken by a man of their choice, so she picked an older boy she found relatively attractive and asked him to fuck her."

Narcissa had to set her tea down on the table for fear she'd drop the cup. Her mouth hung open. She'd had no idea.

"So, in 1978, I was curious. This man was interested in me, he was attractive and funny and kind, and Ted and I were... somewhat stagnated. He desperately wanted more children, he wanted the family we'd dreamed about before becoming parents, whereas I was adamantly against ever becoming pregnant again. It drove a wedge between us, and, to be perfectly honest, I was bored, too. My life bored me. I still loved Ted and Nymphadora, do not misunderstand, but my life was dull, my job was dull, I..."

"Your job was dull?" Though she'd been told not to interrupt, Narcissa couldn't help breaking in. "You had a job?"

Andromeda chuckled. "Of course I had a job! Ted doesn't come from... from Malfoy money! I _still_ have a job! I retired when I turned forty and had to start up again after Ted went on the run so we could pay our bills, especially once Nymphadora was out of work. I worked yesterday, as a matter of fact, and I'll work again on Monday. Part-time, though, now. I am able to partially live off our savings. In any case..."

"What kind of job?" Narcissa leaned forward, as if she had to be physically closer to her sister to picture this. The thought of working for a living had never really occurred to Narcissa. As far as she knew, no woman in their family had ever worked. Bellatrix and their mother certainly hadn't, nor had Lucius' mother.

"Do you want to hear about my dull fucking dead-end career or do you want to hear about the year I spent shagging a father of five behind my husband's back?" snapped Andromeda, losing patience. Narcissa slunk back into her chair.

"The affair," she answered. "Please."

(She could ask more about the job later.)

Andromeda sighed, sipped her tea, and continued. "At first, it was exciting. He paid me a lot of attention, a lot of compliments, bought me pretty things, and we flirted at work but were careful not to be found out. Though the possibility of getting caught was almost... exciting. Exhilarating. As time went on, we became increasingly careless, going out in public, renting rooms in the middle of the day, a couple of times we even stayed out all night together. We made up a work trip once and spent a weekend in Ireland. I'd never been before. He paid for everything. I loved it. I didn't love _him,_ I still loved Ted, but I loved the thrill of cheating, the nuance, the danger."

Two thoughts assaulted Narcissa at once. The first was that she and Lucius had always gotten off on the possibility of getting caught, which is why they, on multiple occasions, messed around in public places. The second was that she couldn't recall a single night outside war time that her husband had not slept beside her, which meant he and his mistress hadn't ever spent the entire night together. She wondered if either of those things meant anything.

"Until I didn't," Andromeda continued. "The guilt ate away at me, a little more each day, each week, each month. Ted and I were having money troubles and couldn't go out on dates and one night I came home – late, after leaving my lover – to find that Ted had decorated our sitting room to look like the restaurant we ate at the first night of our honeymoon. He'd arranged for Nymphadora to spend the night with a friend so we'd be alone. He'd even cooked for me, and he was a terrible cook, but the job he'd done was decent. He'd even painted a tall watercolor of the Eiffel Tower for me, which he propped up between the front windows, because I'd always wanted to see Paris but we couldn't afford to go. I loved him and I loved the gesture and after he was asleep I sat in the shower and sobbed for hours. I had a wonderful man, much better than I deserved, and I was risking throwing him and our life away for the fun of a meaningless fling. The following day, I broke it off with my... other."

Narcissa picked apart a scone, not eating it, as she listened intently.

"He was upset but not vindictive or angry. Hurt, perhaps. I think he cared more for me than I did for him. My great mistake was not telling him in person, but in a letter. He wrote back that he understood and would be professional at work, so not to worry. Two weeks later, Ted received a photograph in the mail. Muggle post. I brought it to show you, as I anticipated this topic of conversation." She reached into the pocket of her floor-length dress and removed a two-by-three black and white photograph, not moving. It was of Andromeda, around twenty-five years of age, in a revealing negligee, kneeling on a bed in what looked to be a hotel room.

She was beautiful, Narcissa had to admit. Curved in the right places, and toned where she should be. Her hair was wild but in a way that exuded sensuality, not madness, and her eyes were wide and lined in black, and she bore a subtle, sinful smile.

"Look at the back, Cissy."

Narcissa turned it over. Scrawled in ink was the date in one handwriting, then two sentences in another.

 _15 October, 1978_

 _My husband (the cheat) was in possession of this picture of your wife (the whore)._

 _Thought you ought to know._

"When I arrived home from work that evening, it was to find this picture on the kitchen table with a note from Ted. He'd taken Nymphadora and gone to live with his sister. I was devastated. The man I'd been with, his wife threw him out, and he asked if I would let him live with me, but I said absolutely not. I didn't want him, not even a little. I wanted my husband. I _loved_ my husband. I never stopped loving my husband. But I was stupid and selfish and I made a mistake. People make mistakes, Cissy."

"You think my Lucius made a mistake?" Narcissa asked in a small voice. She handed the photograph back with a slightly trembling hand and sniffled. She'd been hyper-focused on his affair for almost two months, since learning of it. She wasn't willing to pay the woman to keep it out of the gossip columns or that salacious future book, but she doubted any report on it would offer insight into the _why,_ which she so desperately sought an answer for.

"I think it's quite possible – most probable – that he did, and that through it he never loved you any less. There are a myriad of reasons people cheat. That vile woman admitted Lucius never loved her. Maybe he was like me. Maybe he was curious. I don't know. Maybe he thought he could handle it but woke up one morning and realized the thought of losing you was more than he could bear."

"What did you do? To get Ted back?" Obviously they'd worked it out, since they'd been married at the time of his death some twenty years later.

"I found a new job, quit the one I'd had, and dedicated myself to doing better, to _being_ better. Still, it took four months to convince Ted to take me back and another two to convince him to move back home with Nymphadora, and even after that, things were rocky for awhile. It was the worst period of my life... until last year."

"This is... rather personal. Why are you telling me, after two months of insisting we'd never see each other again?"

Andromeda did not answer right away. When she did finally respond, it was with a heavy heart and misting eyes. "I felt the way you felt in that apothecary. I hated that woman for making you feel that way. And I hated myself, because I know I made my former co-worker's wife feel the way that woman was making you feel, and... and even though I loathed your husband and all he stood for, I thought you should know, a brief affair doesn't mean he stopped loving you. It means, as I said, that he made a mistake. That's all. And you'll need to forgive him, or it'll haunt you forever."

"Meda..." Narcissa took a deep breath before rushing her next sentences out all at once, like if she didn't hurry out the words, they'd float away before she could utter them. "I think I'm falling for someone and the closer we get, the more _guilty_ I feel, as if I'm being unfaithful to Lucius, and I _love_ Lucius, I do, even though I'm angry at him for having cheated, but this other man, I... I _like_ him and... and I can't help thinking I'm moving on too quickly, that I must be a terrible person, that perhaps my perfect marriage was a sham if my husband managed to cheat on me and I'm managing to move on... not that I'm moving on, not really, I'm still in mourning, I'll always be in mourning, but this man, he's so _good_ to me, better than I deserve, and I... I _like_ the way I feel when he's with me, and... and I... I'm just so bloody confused! What do you think it means?"

Andromeda, to Narcissa's surprise, smirked at this.

"Oh, Cissy, dear." She lifted her teacup and took a sip, then returned it and the saucer to the table and reached for a scone. "Honestly? I think it means you're human."

Upstairs in the library, also taking tea, Hermione and Draco were unaware that Narcissa had company. They were discussing their future, both as individuals and as a couple.

"I think you should move into my bedroom. We're together practically every night anyway!" He was sitting in an armchair with Crookshanks curled comfortably in his lap, purring. The squashed-face menace no longer took every chance he got to attack the young wizard, not since Draco had started giving him expensive chicken treats every night before bed.

"I'm not ready for that sort of commitment, Draco!" Hermione, curled up on the edge of the couch, sounded utterly exasperated. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. "You know independence is important to me. Let me land a new job, find my footing, before we make more of ourselves than we already are. Luna and Neville dated exclusively for a year before deciding to move in together. We only had our first date eight months ago. And if there's one thing I don't want, it's to feel like... like you're _caring_ for me."

"But I do care for you!" Now he was the one sounding exasperated. He shifted his legs; part of him wanted to jump up and pace. Crookshanks opened one eye and growled. He did not enjoy having his nap disturbed by their arguing. Draco immediately began scratching him behind the ears, thus he settled once more.

"I mean, I don't want to be like a Malfoy _wife._ I want a job, a career. I want to know I can take care of myself, that I don't need a man to provide for me. But right now, you're providing for me. And while I appreciate it, I truly do, I don't feel we can move forward until I know that I've got myself to fall back on. Understand?"

"No!"

"Draco!"

"I _don't_ understand, Hermione. I love you. You love me. We're living in the same bloody house, sharing a bed four of seven nights per week at least, my mother doesn't mind you, your cat's stopped attacking my arse, even some of our friends have come 'round, so why not move to the next step?"

"I feel like you're not listening."

"That's ridiculous! I hear you!"

"You _hear_ me, but are you _listening_?"

"I don't see what the big deal about having a job is!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands, nearly disturbing the cat once more. "My mother never had a job. My father never had a job. I don't think my grandfather ever had a job. Not a real one, anyway. They knew how to turn galleons into more galleons, but that's all my family has done for generations. Why work a job if you don't have to?"

"Because I need to be fulfilled!"

"Why don't I fulfill you? Why am I not enough?"

She exhaled loudly and slowly, making him feel like an unruly child trying his parent's patience. It was not a feeling he liked.

"Draco, you fulfill me in the ways I need you to, but the personal satisfaction that comes from doing a good day's work, it can't compare to... it's different from... you can't understand, unless..." She hopped up, holding one finger in the air, overtaken by what she would deem a brilliant idea. "That's it! _You_ should get a job! Don't live off your family gold forever. Make more of it, make something of yourself, make a name for yourself. Then you'll understand!"

"Me?" He pointed at himself, horrified. A job? Working for money? That sounded like the sort of thing poor people did. Poor people in need of money. Not privileged people who came from it. He scoffed. "No, thank you, Hermione."

"Try it! I'll keep searching for one and you start searching for one and if, after six months of working, you still don't understand why a career is both fulfilling and important to me, you can quit."

"And you'll quit too?"

Her lips became a thin line as her eyes narrowed. Staring down at him, she suddenly strongly resembled Professor McGonagall, and not in a welcome way.

"I want to work," she said definitely.

"Fine!" He knew when he was beat. "I'll work a job, if it means so much to you. For six months. Then I can be done with it. But not a demeaning job. I'm not going to scrub toilets like a bloody house-el... er..."

(She wasn't happy about the fact that they had house-elves doing all the chores. She insisted upon doing all but her own laundry, as they did it by magic and were insulted when she tried to handle her own.)

"I'm not going to scrub toilets," he finished weakly.

"You won't have to scrub toilets." She rolled her eyes. "There are other types of work. We'll try to find Ministry jobs."

(She didn't mention that she'd been applying for Ministry jobs for months, since she was fired from the Mentorship program, but with her criminal record and the continued controversy regarding the stalled executions, no one was clamoring to hire her.)

"I'll take Minister for Magic, then." Draco grinned cheekily. "I meet all the qualifications. Good looking, intelligent, handsome, eloquent, attractive, personable..."

"You forgot modest, humble, and selfless," she said dryly, but after a few seconds she couldn't help returning the smile. "Let's start a bit smaller than Minister. Perhaps there's an opening in Arthur Weasley's department. How do you feel about Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?"


	20. Passion

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY:**

 **PASSION**

Two months to the day after Andromeda and Narcissa had tea together at Malfoy Manor, they were meeting again, this time at Andromeda's modest but well-kept house. Though they'd made this a weekly thing, it was the first time Narcissa was seeing the place her sister called home.

"Merlin's beard," breathed Narcissa upon entry, glancing around. Not only was there not one thing out of place, not one book on the coffee table or one mug on the kitchen counter, in the sitting room there were two long, low bookshelves, one with brightly colored picture books, the other with brightly colored plastic bins, all labeled. Fantasy, Folk Tales, Disney, Wooden Blocks, Stuffed Animals, Teething Toys... Narcissa was glad her sister had never visited when Draco was small. He left a line of discarded items behind him wherever he went – snack crumbs, gobstones, miniature wizard figures – and Lucius was constantly stepping on them, hurting his feet, and screaming for Dobby to tend to whichever room he happened to be in. There was a large shiny calendar on the wall, color-coded, and even the couch pillows were perfectly placed on a slight angle, as if done for decoration but never to be used.

"I like things just-so," said Andromeda, rightly interpreting her sister's expression.

"This is the best organized sitting room I've ever seen!" said Narcissa. "You don't have house-elves?"

"No, I couldn't afford one on my salary. I'm adept at cleaning and organizational spells. I can make socks fold themselves and only need to wave my wand once for the dishes to start washing. I had a lot more to do with Ted and Nymphadora were here. They are both very messy people. Or... they _were_." She sighed. "This..." she reached down into a bouncy swing suspended by a doorway into what looked like a bedroom, "is Teddy."

He was on the small side for a nineteen-month-old, with bright pink hair that went in all directions, large hazel eyes, and a button nose. His grandmother set him down on the floor and he ran to Narcissa on wobbly legs.

"He was a late walker," explained Andromeda. "He still has some balance issues. Nymphadora did too. It's a Metamorphmagus trait... they tend to be clumsy."

As if on cue, Teddy tripped over his own feet, pitching forward. Narcissa, her reflexes as quick as they were when Draco was this size, caught him before he hit the floor with his face. He smiled at her and his hair went blonde. She knelt down to look at him more closely.

"Hello, Teddy. I'm your Great-Aunt Cissy. Can you say Cissy?"

"Cissy," he copied.

"You're adorable. Andromeda, he's adorable."

Andromeda beamed. "Thank you. I'm rather fond of him myself. Here, Teddy." She reached for a plastic container marked Stacking Cups and Building Blocks and dumped it onto the middle of the floor. "That will keep him occupied while I make tea."

"It's like you're a mother again." Narcissa followed her sister into the kitchen, but they could still see Teddy. Andromeda put the kettle on. Narcissa settled herself into one of the high-backed chairs and watched the toddler place a cup in another cup, a block on top of that, then roll onto his back and pop his foot in his mouth.

"He's all that keeps me going most days." This was said matter-of-factly, despite the sad reality. "His godfather, Harry, has been a big help with him. He doesn't want the boy to grow up unloved and lonely as he did."

"Did he?" It occurred to Narcissa she'd never actually thought about what Harry's childhood had been like before Hogwarts. She knew he was raised by relatives, Muggles, she presumed, but she'd assumed they'd treated him well enough. Why wouldn't they?

"His aunt and uncle were awful. Abusive. Kept him locked in a cupboard at night until he was twelve, that was his bedroom, they underfed him, they let his cousin bully him mercilessly. No real Christmas or birthday presents, he had no other family and no friends, they didn't even say goodbye in the end. Sad, really."

"Oh. That _is_ sad." Narcissa recollected the first time she'd seen the boy, the afternoon her husband had gotten into a scuffle with Arthur Weasley in the bookshop (quite embarrassing). She and Harry hadn't spoken then. They didn't speak until years later, when Lucius was in prison after the Ministry debacle, when Potter called him her "loser of a husband" and suggested they get a "double cell in Azkaban" so she'd informed him she thought he would be reunited with his dead godfather – her cousin – before she saw her husband again. It hadn't been a nice thing to say, but then, she wasn't feeling particularly nice in the moment.

The last time she spoke to him, it was only to ask whether her son was alive, and once Harry Potter confirmed he was, she turned to the Dark Lord, employing Occlumency that wouldn't be able to keep out her sister if her sister tried at all to enter her mind, and said the boy was dead.

"My son and his... girlfriend... are having dinner with Pot – with Harry – tonight. Draco acted indifferent about it during breakfast, but I could discern how nervous and uncomfortable he is. The boys hated each other in school from the first moment they met. Draco tried to be welcoming to him, but he refused my son's handshake and opted to chum up to that Weasley boy instead."

"Can't imagine why," said Andromeda offhandedly as she got out biscuits, milk, and sugar. "Think of it objectively. Draco's parents were famous for having supported You-Know-Who all through the first war, and Harry's parents was famous for being murdered by You-Know-Who at the end of it, leaving him to be raised by nasty relatives. To think the boy didn't jump at a chance to be best of friends with Draco after all that! What terrible manners. No sense of etiquette or propriety."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Are you always such a bitch or is it only when I'm around?"

"Piss off. Biscuit?" She held out a tin.

"Please."

Once the tea was ready, they settled in the sitting room on opposite ends of the comfortable couch to watch Teddy play. Their conversation was interrupted every two minutes as he'd find something in a colored bin, bring it to Narcissa, and wait for her to express happy surprise over it.

"Bock!"

"What a lovely block!"

"Cat!"

"What a lovely cat!"

"Cah! Cah!"

"What a lovey... uh... cah-cah."

"It's a car, you twit." Andromeda snickered. "You know what a bus is but you don't know a car?"

"I've seen them in Muggle London; I just didn't know what they were called!" Narcissa wrinkled her nose at her sister, then smiled at Teddy. "What a lovely car!"

"You _have_ led a sheltered life, haven't you?"

"You know I have."

Andromeda chuckled and sipped her tea. Narcissa pouted a few moments but got over it relatively quickly.

"So... tell me..." Andromeda's face broke into a grin. "Your mystery man... any new developments?"

"Well..." Narcissa's cheeks went slightly pink. "We had dinner the other night, and before he left, he kissed me."

Andromeda, assuming this was the first time he'd kissed her, nodding approvingly, a naughty smile on the corners of her lips. Narcissa wouldn't tell her, but the reason the kiss was special wasn't because it was first, but because it was the first outside the bedroom. It hadn't happened in a flurry of confused passion or after a night of suppressed flirtation. They'd simply shared a meal and chatted, when it was over, she walked him to the door, and upon saying goodnight, his fingertips gently touched her hip, he leaned in, and pressed his slightly-parted lips to hers. She'd kissed him back, slipping one hand up to the back of his neck to draw him even closer, and they'd proceeded to snog each other until their lips were swollen, right there in the open doorway of Malfoy Manor. Then, when they were breathless and heady, he'd kissed her once more, briefly on the temple, said goodnight again, and made his way to the apparition point. She'd very nearly shouted after him to stay, to spend the night, to make love to her... even though she knew she wasn't ready.

"Details?" asked Andromeda. "I never intend to date again, so it's only polite for you, as my sister, to let me live vicariously through you."

"Well..." Narcissa smirked. After a dramatic pause, during which she, frankly, enjoyed the attention, she shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose I could tell you."

She and Andromeda talked for the next two hours while Teddy played by their feet, and she returned home in a perfectly pleasant mood.

It had been a good day. A lovely day. A damn fine day.

But that was because neither of them had read the day's Prophet.

Meanwhile, back at Malfoy Manor, Draco, who hadn't read the paper either, was pouting and whining and acting very much like he belonged in the same daycare as little Teddy.

"Can't believe I have to have dinner with stupid Potter," he muttered. He was going through his wardrobe looking for an ensemble that would say both _'I'm a new, better, more approachable person!'_ and _'I'm far superior to you, loser!'_ without it looking like he'd tried too hard. "She's cruel for making me do this."

"Mroww," said Crookshanks, almost as if he agreed.

"I've had dinner with Longbottom and Lovegood twice already. Isn't that torture enough?"

"Mroww."

"Damn right."

Truthfully, once Draco had relaxed, he'd been able to enjoy dinner with Longbottom and Lovegood. Neville wasn't as odd and goofy as he'd been in school, and Luna, weird as ever, was actually rather entertaining. She was also painfully honest, which he appreciated, as he'd grown up surrounded by a number of fake people. In exchange for having behaved himself at the first dinner, Hermione had agreed to have brunch with him and Goyle a few days later. (She'd also rewarded Draco with a blissful multi-positional shag later that evening.) But this had led to her asking him to spend an evening with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, and he was looking forward to it about as much as one would having a tooth pulled or drinking Skeele-Gro.

"She's trying to kill me, isn't she? Well? What do you think?"

The half-Kneazle simply stared at him, wearing, to Draco's interpretation, a rather judgmental expression.

"You always end up taking _her_ side," Draco said grumpily. "What about me?"

Crookshanks rolled onto his back and growled, clearly done with the conversation. Draco sighed, pulled out a gray shirt he thought might compliment his eyes, and considered what trousers to pair it with. He was glad Hermione was not home to hear this ridiculous man-and-cat conversation. She had finally landed a job and it was her first day. That's why they were going out for dinner with Potter and Ginny Weasley. It had been Potter's intervention that got her a position in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. She was now working as an Oblivator, which she was highly capable of doing, evidenced by what she'd done to her own parents during the war. Though it wasn't work she thought she'd enjoy, she was glad to finally have _something_.

She told Draco she wanted to thank her friend for his help. Draco suggested owling him a basket of fruit. This had led to their first _real_ fight, the first that seemed it might mean the end of them, right in the middle of the Malfoy Manor library, the first that involved shouting and glaring and some childish foot stomping and barbs from both sides, but thankfully didn't end with a flock of birds pecking at him, as she'd done to Ron in fits of anger a time or two (or three or four).

"He's my friend, Draco! One of my best friends, one of the best friends I've ever had, and if you can't see past your own past to accept that–"

 _"_ _I'm not saying you can't be friends with the four-eyed git, only that I don't want to have to stare at his ugly face all through a meal–"_

"Have an open mind! You enjoyed our time with Luna and Neville!"

 _"_ _Potter's not like Longbottom or Lovegood! He's a tosser! He has a saving people complex! He's full of himself!"_

"You're one of the people he saved, remember? And you're one to talk about someone being full of himself! The way you were back in school, I'm surprised you didn't lose your virginity to your own reflection!"

 _"_ _He hates me! He hates me more than I've ever hated him. I wanted to be friends when we first met! He was the one who didn't!"_

"You mean when you were eleven years old and you'd just insulted Ron?!"

 _"_ _You're a bloody hypocrite now, aren't you? Need I remind you, YOU insult Ron all the time! You called him a small-minded toad not two weeks ago!"_

"We're not talking about Ron right now! If this relationship is possibly going anywhere..."

 _"_ _This relationship is not the problem!"_

"If you don't see the problem–"

 _"_ _I don't like Potter! That's the problem!"_

"For what reason? After all that's happened, after all we've all gone through, what legitimate reason do you still have to hate him?"

 _"_ _He once had a go at my mother!"_

"You once stomped on his face!"

 _"_ _He got my father sent to Azkaban!"_

"Your father got himself sent to Azkaban!"

 _"_ _His best friend is Ronald Weasley, the dunderhead who broke your heart!"_

"Your best friend is Gregory Goyle, the dunderhead who makes trolls sound like poets! And since when do you say Dunderhead, Professor?"

 _"_ _He nearly killed me with Sectumsempra after he caught me bloody crying in a bathroom! Who attacks a wizard when he's down!"_

"Didn't you strike first?"

 _"_ _Not with Sectumsemptra!"_

"You were mid-Cruciatus!"

 _"_ _But I didn't land it!"_

"You would have! And for attacking someone when he's down, did I not thirty seconds ago remind you of the time you stomped on Harry's face while he was incapacitated? You left him to bleed to death in the train under his cloak!"

 _"He wasn't going to bleed to death. I knew someone would go looking for him! Besides, I think I was absolved of that when I didn't tell my aunt he wasn't Vernie Dooley or whoever he pretended to be when you three were captured. I saved his life that time, didn't I?"_

"And he saved yours at Hogwarts during the Final Battle!" She let out a scream of frustration. "I'm serious, Draco, stop it! You have no good reason to refuse to have dinner – just dinner! – with Harry. I'm not asking you to marry him! Have dinner! Is there one good reason you can't have dinner? Is there? Well? Is there? IS THERE?!"

 _"_ _He... he... he..."_ Draco searched for something, anything, that might get him out of this obligation. Finally, he sputtered, _"He was an overrated Quidditch player!"_

"He... he was... What?" That stopped her. Draco scowled. He knew immediately upon uttering the words that they were stupid, but they'd slipped out without being processed by his brain first. "You're being ridiculous, Draco Malfoy. Your mother reconciled with her sister after over twenty-five years estrangement and you can't spent two hours sitting across from one my best friend at dinner, even though you know it's important to me?"

 _"Two hours?!" Draco let out a whiney sound and bumped the table near his right hand, looking every bit like the spoiled brat he'd been raised to be. "How slow does he eat? Does he have to dance with his food before he puts it in his mouth? You want me to suffer for two full hours?!"_

"Fine!" Her voice was shaky now and he knew he'd gone too far. "Don't come. I'll go to dinner alone. I'll go through _life_ alone! I'd rather be alone!"

And then she'd burst into furious tears and he'd felt like a royal arse, a feeling not lessened when his mother poked her head into the library and said, "Just have a dinner with the fucking Chosen One, Draco. It won't kill you to make new friends," then informed them she was going out and would not be back until after nightfall. (Neither of them asked where she was going.)

So Draco had apologized and agreed to have dinner and now he had to suffer the consequences of falling for a Muggle-born woman who'd spent seven years as the right-hand (and brain) of the person he hated more than anyone else he'd gone to school with, save, perhaps, for Pansy (who'd told the Prophet he had a 'social disease' before announcing her engagement to Blaise Zabini last week).

"Mroww?" Crookshanks hopped off the bed, rubbed against Draco's ankles, and purred.

"If I make it through tonight without hexing Potter, you can have your treat then," Draco snipped. Crookshanks hissed at him and took off up the chimney.

Hours later, Hermione was home and they were getting ready to go out. All she had left to do was her makeup, but Draco, having waited until the last minute, had just hopped in the shower. She sat on his bed, mirror in hand, and was applying mascara when movement outside caught her eye.

Narcissa, walking through the wooded area outside, toward the pond. She was wearing a long black dress, fitted, that only went to her calves, and high black boots with a shawl around her shoulders. She held the shawl tightly as the wind tried to take it from her. It looked like they were going to have a storm. Dead leaves swirled into the air and the branches of half-dead trees swayed ominously. The sky was darkening. Hermione squinted and leaned close to the glass. What was Draco's mother doing? Where was she going?

When she was nearly to the lake, by the far edge of the trees, she pulled a roll up newspaper from the pocket of her dress, drew her wand, and sent the pages flying into the air in all directions, tossed by both magic and the wind. She then pointed her wand at a sheet, said something no one else could hear, and made it burst into flames, which burned and went out over the water, scattering ashes across the pond. Her wand swishing, her body language conveying barely-controlled fury, she did it again and again and again, reminding Hermione of a hunter taking down birds. Another movement caught her eye then... another figure in black.

Severus Snape had followed her.

He remained at a distance, watching expressionlessly, as Narcissa screamed and pointed her wand and set papers on fire, letting out all her anguish and aggression. He knew why she was upset. He'd seen the paper.

LUCIUS MALFOY'S MISTRESS TELLS ALL read the headline.

Though the article claimed to be just a precursor to the whole story, with the rest forthcoming in the book about the private lives of Voldemort's inner circle, the details the woman gave were so intimate Severus felt he needed a fucking chaperone to read them.

Overhead, distant thunder rumbled. The wind picked up even more. Though none had started to fall, it _felt_ like rain. They were going to get soaked. Still, Severus said nothing. He did nothing. He only watched. He watched to be sure she wouldn't turn the wand on herself when this was done. Her arm was finally healing. Her heart was finally healing. And now this.

When every last flying paper had been ignited and extinguished, she screamed once more, turned dramatically on her heel, and was set to flee back to her home, to the confines of her bed, where she would pull the covers over her head and cry and possibly never come out... but she saw him standing there.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice shaking with anger and hurt and frustration, embarrassment and a touch of appreciation for his presence. He, being almost as adept at Legilimency as she, could feel these mixed emotions emanating from her. He wondered if she could feel that it caused him pain.

"To make certain you're alright."

"Well, I'm fucking not. I'm not alright! It's not bad enough she spent half a year shagging my husband, she had to tell the whole world... Did you read it? Did you read what she...? The humiliation of it! My _son_ could read that! My _sister_! My _friends_! If... if I had friends! And she couldn't confine herself to talking about _her_ sex life with him could she? Oh, no, that would be far too forgivable. No, she had to talk about _mine. Mine!"_

The article must have included every bit of information Lucius had given his mistress about his relationship with his wife. They reported on how often they'd done it, that they were each other's firsts, their penchant for engaging in semi-public acts while on holiday... They'd even reported which positions Narcissa preferred and which ones she wouldn't try.

"Why would anyone care to read such drivel? What is wrong with people? They want me to suffer, they want our family to suffer, because we supported the Dark Lord. But we've already suffered! The entire time he lived here in this house, we suffered! When Draco spent a year trying to kill Dumbledore at the threat of losing his own life, we suffered! Then the Ministry killed my husband and twice imprisoned my son post-war, and through that, we suffered! How much more can we suffer for them? How much more do they think we deserve?"

"I don't know," Severus answered honestly.

"My bloody husband and I were together at least five times per week for nearly twenty-five years, but you'd think I never gave him anything, you'd think I was a... a prude... simply because I wouldn't degrade myself by kneeling to suck him off, just because I didn't want to feel like those 'rewards' the Dark Lord gave during the first war. Does that bother you, Severus? Is that all you'd want of me? If I offered you _everything_ else, would you seek another woman simply to–"

"No," he answered without waiting for her to finish the question. His next words were uttered with such vulnerability they hit her gut like a punch. "And you don't have to give me everything else. I'm content enough to simply hold you."

She couldn't react at first.

Not for several seconds, during which they stared at each other, never looking away, while the wind rustled the leaves left on the trees.

Time seemed to stand still.

"You deserve a far better woman than me, Severus." The furious tears she'd been holding at bay threatened to escape. She choked them back, unwilling to let herself sob for her perfect husband again. In the future, she would. But not today. Not now. Not over this. "Far, far better."

Severus began moving toward her, slowly, but without hesitation. The dry, dead leaves crunched under his feet. Drips of rain were just starting to fall. The thunder grew closer.

"You deserve a younger woman, a less broken woman. A woman who could take your name and give you children."

He was nearly to her. Almost close enough to reach out and grab her hand. A raindrop landed on her face and rain down her cheek. No, not a raindrop. A tear.

Lightning in the distance.

Thunder.

Rain.

"Severus, you deserve a woman who can give you her _whole heart."_

He was in front of her now. One hand went to her waist, to her hip, and held firm. The other brushed that raindrop – no, that tear – away.

"I'd rather have half your heart than the whole of someone else's," he said.

And she threw herself at him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body pressed against his with a force he'd not felt from her before, and her lips... She kissed his temple, his cheek, his jaw and the corner of his mouth, his throat, his neck... She unbuttoned the collar of his frock coat and the top several buttons and kissed the scar from Nagini's bite, sucking at it, hard enough to leave a mark over the one already marring his skin.

He knew she was vulnerable in this moment and that he, like he had done in the past, ought to hold her hands and tell her no and insist they drink tea or read or talk about something innocuous, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. His other hand went to her arse and they stumbled, him forward, her back, until they hit a tree. With her pinned between his body and the bark, he untied her shawl, letting it fly off in the wind, and touched her, touched her everywhere he could touch, his hands moving erratically and roughly but also gently and with purpose.

She continued to unbutton his coat until he was divested of it, it and his shirt, and then she made to unfasten his trousers, and for the first time, he did not stop her.

Up in Draco's bedroom window, overlooking this scene, Hermione was feeling a range of conflicting emotions as well... not to mention confusing ones. There was something so beautiful, almost magical, in the way the two had come together, in the way they were touching and kissing each other. It was as if they were both finally diving into a treat they'd been long denied, and though she knew she should stop watching, though it ought to disgust her to be witnessing such intimacy between her former professor and her boyfriend's mother, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

Narcissa Malfoy had her back to the tree trunk.

Severus Snape was letting loose her shawl.

She was sucking on his neck.

He was removing the ribbon from the braid at the end of her hair.

Her hands were fiddling with his belt.

His were caressing her breasts.

And, as the rain picked up, making the view fuzzy and then obscuring it altogether, he was lifting her against the tree, her legs wrapped around her waist, and they seemed so completely and desperately in love it filled Hermione's stomach with butterflies of sexual tension and her chest with a deep weighted apprehension.

Would she ever find herself like that? Could she feel the way that looked... with Draco?

"Hermione? Is this... I'll look alright?" Draco stepped out of the loo. She finally diverted her attention from the window, smiling when she set eyes on him. He was clean, dry, and dressed, his hair slicked into a ponytail. He wore that steel gray shirt and the tailored trousers and was looking handsomer than she'd ever seen him.

"What were you looking at?" he asked.

"The rain," she answered.

"Oh. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"I am. I... I'm glad to be getting to know your friends, Hermione." He moved to the bed, took both of her hands in his, and coaxed her into a standing position. "I'm sorry we fought, but I had a long conversation about it with Crookshanks this afternoon."

"Mrooww?" meowed the squashed-faced half-kneazle upon hearing his name. He stood up on the bed, his ears and tail at attention. Was he about to get a treat?

"And what did Crookshanks say?" she asked, humoring him.

"Mrroww!" Crookshanks batted at them. Treat?

"Silly beast," said Draco, scratching behind his ears. "Would you believe this damn cat thought I ought to refuse to go, even though it's clearly very important to you?" Draco kissed her cheek. She giggled.

With a look of pity in Crookshanks' direction, he added, "Obviously, _he's_ never been in love!"

She glanced toward the window, where now all that could be seen was water dripping down the glass, and then back at Draco, so earnest, a far cry from the boy she'd once punched in the face. She returned the kiss.

"Obviously."


	21. Liberation

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:**

 **LIBERATION**

Two weeks.

She's going to be gone for two weeks.

A fortnight.

Might as well be forever.

"I mucked it up, Crookshanks," Draco informed the squashed-faced ginger half-kneazle, who stared back at him with a knowing look, as if to say, 'I told you so.'

He'd tried during dinner. He really had. He was polite... at first. He'd shaken hands with Potter and Ginny Weasley. He'd complimented the witch's dress and asked her how her first season on the Holyhead Harpies was going. He'd answered Potter's broad, dull questions about his life post-Hogwarts (no, he didn't have a job. Yes, he was looking for one. No, he didn't play Quidditch much anymore. Yes, he was still in touch with Goyle. No, he didn't have plans for Halloween. Yes, he agreed they were having an unseasonably warm October.) but when the conversation turned to W.A.M.M. and their arrests back in May, Draco felt his patience waning.

"I hexed that prat and I'd do it again," said Ginny, referring to the man who'd shot a jinx in his aunt Andromeda's direction during the Ministry debacle. "It was worth a few weeks in Azkaban to see him post Bat-Bogey. Besides, prison wasn't _that_ bad. Without the Dementors there, it's mostly just dull, but not unbearable."

"I disagree," Draco said, his voice without inflection. "The Dementors may as well have still been there. I was locked in my aunt's cell. It was dismal."

"All you need is a strong mind and you'll survive just fine," said Ginny dismissively. "It can only drive you to madness if you let it."

"Rubbish!" said Draco, a little more harshly than he'd intended. He felt Hermione's hand on his knee. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Perhaps it affects different people in different ways." He was trying to be diplomatic. "But I hardly think those who go mad are driven to it because they lack strong minds. The war hit some of us harder than others."

"You're suggesting it didn't hit me hard?" She narrowed her gaze, and though Draco didn't see it, now Harry had his hand on her knee, a silent reminder to keep calm. "My brother was murdered. Your aunt nearly killed me. The Final Battle was hell. What suffering did you endure, in your pampered palace? You got to spend three years committing war crimes only to be released from Ministry custody because you agreed to spend a couple of hours chatting it up with Hermione once or twice per week for six months."

"My father is dead," Draco reminded her. "My aunt is dead because your mother killed her. My mother–"

"My mother killed her to stop her killing me, or Hermione, or anyone else. She was bloody barmy. She was a murderer. She was as bad as Voldemort. And your father..."

"Ginny," said Harry, his voice low. "Let's change the subject."

"My father did not deserve to die," said Draco coldly. "My father was a good man."

"A good man who gave eleven-year-old me a diary to open a secret chamber knowing kids could get killed – knowing I'd probably be killed – for the fun of it? Any idea what it's like to be possessed by the darkest wizard of all time?"

"I think we need another bottle of this wine," said Hermione, holding up her nearly empty glass. She and Harry exchanged a look. "It's a sweeter wine than I'm used to, but I think I love it. Don't you love it? Harry?"

"Harry hates wine," Ginny snapped. "He's only drinking it because everyone else is and he didn't want to order a butterbeer like a kid."

"I think some of us have had enough wine." Harry's glass was nearly empty too, but that's because Ginny had been sipping from it since the bottle ran dry, having finished her own. "Anyone for coffee?"

"My father did not know you would end up possessed or that anyone might be killed," Draco insisted, even though even he didn't quite believe this. "He didn't know the diary was a Horcrux or that the Dark Lord's soul still existed within it. Had he known..."

"Had he known, he would've slipped it into the school years earlier, right? Don't misunderstand, Draco, I'm glad you're reformed, but he wasn't. He supported You-Know-Who during the First War and again leading up to and during the Second. He only defected because you and your mother did and because, once he knew Harry'd survived the Killing Curse for the second time, he knew your side would lose. He denounced You-Know-Who to keep out of prison, not because he felt badly for his actions."

"You don't have any idea how he felt!" Draco clenched his fists under the table. Hermione tried again to change the subject, she even whispered in his ear, 'She's pissed, let it go!' but now Draco was the one who couldn't let the subject drop. He needed her to know – he needed them all to know – that it didn't matter why his father had walked away from the Dark Lord. What was important was that he did, and he didn't deserve to die for his actions, and besides, some of the Dark Lord's ideas weren't so bad, especially during the First War, so it made perfect sense for anyone with a long lineage of magic and a sense of pureblood pride to follow him!

And dinner devolved from there.

Once they'd returned to Malfoy Manor, all he wanted to do was rant and rave about the rudeness of the Weasley girl, and ask how dare she question his father's loyalties and motives, and suggest Potter find himself a less obnoxious, out-of-touch, obstinate and awful girlfriend, since the so-called Chosen One hadn't actually seemed all 'that bad,' save for the fact he couldn't control his witch. Hermione sat on the bed and let him have out his tirade, but when he was done, when he collapsed onto the bed beside her expecting support and sympathy, she said quietly, "Draco? I think we need a break."

"A what?" He sat up. She stood and faced him.

"Not a break-up, but a break. I... my parents have been asking for months for me to visit them. I haven't seen them since Easter. Six months. They... I think two weeks should do it. I'll take two weeks to go see them in London, and we can talk when I return."

"When you... what? You're leaving?" None of this made sense. Not at all. Not even a little. She was his girlfriend. They lived together! (Well, sort of.) He loved her and she loved him, or so she said. Hadn't she just said it earlier in the afternoon? He said the cat had never been in love, in love like they were, and she'd said "Obviously." That meant they were obviously in love, didn't it? And people who are in love don't take two week breaks from each other. His parents certainly never had.

"I need to think, Draco. I need... I need time. Space. Air."

"There's air here!" He stood too. They faced off across the bed. The cat hopped up and stood between them, dead center of the mattress, before flopping onto his back and mewing as if he thought asking for belly rubs was a good way to diffuse the tension of the moment.

"I need more air," she said.

"So open a window!" he shouted. No, none of this made sense, and he felt like he was spiraling, spiraling out of control, spiraling down a rabbit hole like the one in that stupid story his mother had made him borrow, the one from the Muggle children's book Severus Snape read her during her worst period months ago. ("You'll like it," she'd said. "It's delightfully odd.")

"Please do not yell at me."

"I'm not yelling!" he yelled. In a barely-controlled neutral volume, he reiterated, "I am not yelling. But I don't understand. She started it. She lit into me. She insulted my father. She..."

"She was drunk."

"That makes it alright?"

"She lacked control; she had no filter. You did. You do. And I'm not angry at you for defending your father, but some of the things you said, Draco... about Lord Voldemort having some good ideas, about the Weasleys never understanding the importance of blood status, about how your father didn't mean any harm in opening the Chamber of Secrets... I was Petrified by the basilisk, remember? Had I not had the sense to look around that corner with a mirror, I would've died at thirteen years old. I am not calling your father a terrible person–"

"But you're agreeing with Weasley, and _she_ called him a terrible person!"

"He was... flawed," Hermione said delicately. She, unlike Draco, did not seem to have an ounce of anger in her. She seemed only sad. This, for some reason, made him angrier.

"He was raised to believe in blood supremacy and that's all he did! He couldn't help it! It's not his fault. We can't all grow up in a dirty hovel with a half dozen other kids and two pureblood parents who worship Muggles–"

"It's statements like that, Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. "When you say things like that it makes me wonder how reformed you are, whether you've truly denounced pureblood supremacy, or whether you're like Snape, willing to look the other way as Muggles are harmed if it suits you, despite being in love with one! I am Muggleborn. I am a Mudblood! I've always been and will always be, and if you harness anti-Muggle feelings while seeing me as an exception to the negative stereotypes you were raised to believe about them–"

"I'm not like Snape!" Draco snarled, even though a tiny, nagging part of him thought she had a point. Snape would've been content to serve the Dark Lord _and_ share his life with Lily Evans. He was willing to ask the Dark Lord to spare her but did not ask the same for her child. He would've seen nothing wrong with rising in the ranks of the Death Eaters as a young man with a Muggleborn wife on his arm. And though he wouldn't admit it to Hermione, if Draco were being completely honest with himself, so would he. If he and Hermione could go back in time, and if he thought it would benefit him and his family, he wouldn't have thought twice about asking the Dark Lord to make an exception for her while looking the other way as others like her were killed. And, for the first time in his life, for this Draco felt truly and deeply ashamed.

"This is who I am." She thrust up her sleeve, where only the M carved into her skin by Bellatrix Lestrange still remained. She had the knife, she had the antidote, but she'd not yet managed to rid herself of this last letter. It served as a constant visual reminder of who she was, what she'd endured, and how much she'd sacrificed to help save the wizarding world. As much as she'd hated having the word etched into her skin, there was a modicum of pride there too, and for that reason she had yet to remove it fully, despite her gratitude to Narcissa for having relieved her of the rest of the word. "This is who I've always been and will always be, Draco. I am Muggleborn. My parents are Muggles. But I fought against You-Know-Who not only because I am a Mudblood, but because I never questioned how wrong his means and motives were. Never once."

"You're a better person than I am, then, Hermione. Congratulations."

She shook her head and he scowled, an expression that very much reminded her of the boy he'd been in school. The look broke her heart, splintered it into a thousand pieces, did to it what the Final Battle had done to the destroyed Mirror of Erised. Damn. She wished she could look into that mirror now, as a barrage of mental images from the past invaded her mind's eye. She remembered the disgust with which he'd looked upon her back then, the word he'd called her, the satisfying way it felt to punch him in the face, the way he'd goaded Buckbeak and played up his injuries to get the creature killed and Hagrid fired, simply because he was a brat and a bigot. He's stomped on Harry's face and left him to bleed. He'd nearly killed Katie Bell trying to use her to get to Dumbledore. He'd been delighted to turn the DA over to Umbridge fifth year. As a prefect, he'd bullied younger students. He'd said she stunk when she entered Madam Malkin's while he was being fitted for new robes. He'd clearly worshipped his father, no matter how heinous the elder Malfoy's actions had been. The bad he'd done, so much of it had been in an attempt to make his father proud, but did that make it forgivable? He'd not identified Harry to his aunt when they were caught by Snatchers, but he did fight in the Final Battle, at least for a little while. Hermione felt herself on the brink of ugly sobbing, a complete emotional breakdown, and she was even more certain now than when she'd first suggested it that they needed a break. Though, hopefully, not a break-up.

"I don't know if I know you," she said quietly, thinking she needed to get out of here before she lost it entirely. "I don't know if I truly know you, and what's worse, when I look in the mirror, sometimes I don't recognize myself."

"Then leave."

"It's not forever. Two weeks. I promise. Unless... unless you don't want me back in two weeks?"

"Your brother and sister are allergic to cats, aren't they?" he asked. She nodded, looking surprised by the question. She barely talked about her brother and sister, the two children her parents conceived while they were unaware of her existence. "Leave Crookshanks here. I can manage the ugly rat-catcher for a fortnight."

"I do love you," she whispered. She wanted to kiss him, to hug him and apologize even though she felt this was the best thing for them right now, especially if they had any hope of being more than they were now in the future, but she was afraid if she crossed to him she'd want to be held and never let go.

"I love you, too," he said quietly. "Now go. Crookshanks and I need space. You're using up all our air."

She'd half-smiled, half-heartedly waved, and left the room, presumably to pack a few things from her own bedroom, and then to be gone for the next fourteen days.

Leaving him alone.

Leaving him.

Neither knew it, but both were asking themselves the same question after their unfortunate goodbye.

Redeemed and reformed as he seemed, could he ever truly be free from the person he was?

Hermione was back at her parents' house before midnight. Her mother was surprised to see her... and even more surprised when she threw herself into her arms and cried, "Oh, Mum!"

Draco sat on his bed, pet the cat, and stared at the clock until nearly midnight, trying to work out what went wrong.

He wondered if his mother was still awake.

Hermione needed time with her parents. Perhaps he needed time with his.

He changed into pajamas, pulled on his dressing gown and slippers, and headed down the hall to his mother's bedroom. He turned the knob without knocking but had only opened it an inch when the groans and sighs of sexual activity punctured his eardrums. He released the knob as if it were hot to the touch and backed away, hands over his ears. How could that be? Who could his mother be with? No, it didn't make sense.

He was going mad, that was it. Just as he had in Azkaban, when he thought he heard his father and aunt's voices and his mother crying and saw Dumbledore falling through that tower window over and over again...

He was having a flashback, surely that was it.

A flashback to his early childhood, when he'd walked in on his parents in a most compromising position. His father's pale naked arse was in the air, and he was moaning, while Narcissa was under him, saying "Lucius, oh, Lucius!"

And Draco, being four years old, shocked, scared and confused, had burst into tears.

His father and mother had immediately parted. Thanks surely to every God that might exist, his mother had been wearing a silk negligee, thus Draco only had to suffer seeing his fully nude father before the man strategically placed a pillow in front of him.

"Draco!" Lucius had said. "What are you doing in here?"

"Why you hurtin' my mummy?" Draco had cried. He scrambled onto the bed, intending to comfort his poor, abused mother, who laughed for reasons he could not grasp. She then cradled him, his cheek to her chest, and kissed his forehead.

"Don't let him in the bed, Feather!" Lucius had scolded, backing off the mattress, his back facing the far wall, still holding the pillow in place.

"I'll take him back to his room." She got up, lifted her son like one would a baby, and carried him toward the door. Once they were safely back in his bedroom, she'd sat in the rocking chair, kissed his forehead again, and said, "Sometimes Mummies and Daddies hug like that, Love." He'd shaken his head because it didn't look like a hug to him. Then she'd added, "Maybe we'll hug until we make you a baby brother or sister. Don't you want a baby brother or sister? I know you do. But you need to stay in your bed tonight. All night. You may not come out until morning. Understand?"

He nodded, and he _did_ want a sibling, but he did _not_ understand. Hugging made brothers and sisters? That didn't make sense. He hugged his mummy all the time and didn't have a single brother or sister to show for it.

And now, over nineteen years later, he was still without a brother or sister, despite having caught his parents in various degrees of 'hugging' several more times over the years (though, thankfully, he'd never again had to look upon his father's naked arse).

He lowered his hands from his ears, exhaled loudly, and reached for the door again, admonishing himself for letting his imagination play tricks. Maybe Ginny Weasley was right. Maybe he didn't have a strong mind.

But no.

No, he could still hear it.

"Yes..." she cried. "Yes, yes... there... Oh... Severus..."

Severus?

Severus Snape?

Was Severus Snape in bed with his mother?

Draco blanched and gagged. He thought he might vomit, right there in the hall. Severus Snape was shagging his mother? In his father's bed?

His disgust was joined by another emotion.

Fury.

He was furious because Severus Snape was shagging his mother, in his father's bloody bed, no less! How could he? How could he take advantage of the emotionally fragile woman in this way?

Draco considered barging in as he had as a boy, but opted instead to quietly close the door and return to his room to fume. He intended to speak to Snape about this. He envisioned himself using Ginny Weasley's Bat-Bogey hex on the former professor. He envisioned himself using Snape's own Sectumsempra. He envisioned himself using the Cruciatus Curse.

How dare that filthy half-blood opportunist take his mother to his father's bed! The man hadn't even been gone a full year.

The more he dwelled on it, the angrier he grew, and it almost felt good. It felt good to focus on something that was completely unrelated to having been left by Hermione.

He went down to the kitchen to drink tea and wait. He didn't know if Snape would sneak out under the cover of darkness or stay the entire night, but he intended to confront him before he left.

He placed his wand beside his tea cup.

Yes, he'd teach that perverse Mudblood a lesson.

At his feet, Crookshanks mewed and begged for attention.

"We'll teach him," said Draco. He lifted the cat onto the table and summoned over a bowl of tuna juice, which Hermione kept refrigerated as a treat for him. The cat lapped up the fishy water while Draco sipped his tea.

"We'll teach him."

"Did you hear something?" Narcissa asked Severus. It had been a click, like the sound of a door closing, but she was sure she hadn't left her door open.

"No," he said, not pausing in his movements. She was on her back, facing up at him, with her right leg bent and her left down flat. He was pumping into her, holding her knee with one hand, the other playing with her clit. "Did you?"

"I thought I did. Stop, let me listen."

He stopped. She listened. After a moment, she let loose a sigh of relief.

"I must have imagined it. I'm sorry. Keep going." She put a hand on his hip, coaxing him to continue. "Keep going, please. Please, I'm so close."

He leaned down, kissed her soundly, and was all-too happy to oblige.

The night hadn't started this way, but it had ended up fulfilling every fantasy he'd had over the last several months. Against the tree, in the rain, while the leaves swirled around them, he'd taken her. He'd been without shirt or coat, she'd had her skirt hitched up just enough, and she'd clung to him while he thrust into her.

"Harder," she'd begged. "Harder, Severus, please."

He half-wanted to stop. He wanted to tell her it wasn't supposed to be this way. They weren't supposed to be frenzied and desperate for each other outside against a tree in a tempest. He'd given considerable thought to how he'd wanted their first time together to go (assuming it ever happened). And in every scenario he saw himself slowly undressing her, pleasuring her, making her forget – at least in the moment – all about her late husband. He wanted them to spend a satisfactory amount of time on foreplay, touching and kissing and exploring each other. He wanted to keep holding her once they were finished, he wanted to spend the night together, he wanted her to tell him she loved him... or, at the very least, that she fancied him as he did her.

He'd never felt for another woman as he did for her, save for Lily, but that was different. Lily would always be different. But just as he'd never been with Lily, he'd never been in any way intimate with a woman he wanted to love... he'd never before thought of sex as 'making love,' but when he pictured himself with her, that's what he thought about. Not that he was past or over his love for Lily. He would always been in love with her. She would always be held on that pedestal, and he'd never stop wondering 'what if' as far as she was concerned... but the way Narcissa smiled at him, the way she teased him, the way her dry, sometimes dark sense of humor complimented his, and the way she got his heart racing and his cock hard without even trying to conspired to making him almost as obsessed with her as he'd once been with Lily. He thought about her constantly. He wanted her all the time. And now, he was finally having her... and it wasn't right at all.

"You alright?" she asked, her legs wrapped around his waist, her back to the bark. She had to shout to be heard over the wind and the rain.

"I wanted this to be... different!" He had to shout too.

"You're a romantic!" she shouted. He scowled. That wasn't a word he ever wanted to hear as a description for himself. "Don't deny it! I can read your mind, remember?"

"Get out of my head, witch!" He thrust faster, harder as requested, and thought it wasn't what he'd been picturing for months, fuck, it felt good. He wasn't going to last long. He kissed her, hard, and she returned the kiss with such force it almost hurt.

"Harder!" she demanded, and he obliged. She gasped and moaned and kissed him again, and when she called out his name he couldn't hold back anymore. He finished inside her, right there against the tree in the rain with his shirt missing and her dress still on.

He set her down and then neither of them moved. Neither could. He could barely stand. He rested his weight against hers, though really all that held either of them up was the trunk of the tree. The rain beat down on their heads; their clothes were soaked straight through. She kept her arms wrapped around him, her hands linked behind his back, and his wrists were crossed between her lower back and the tree.

After awhile, she suggested they Accio their missing clothing and go inside before catching cold. He agreed. Once in her bedroom, she told him he could place his wet clothing in the laundry chute for the house-elves to handle.

And then she removed her dress. He was frozen as if by magic, but her wand was not in her hand. She was standing before him in only a bra and knickers and thigh-high stockings, her blonde hair dripping onto the floor, all tangled up with orange leaves, and he'd never seen anyone more beautiful.

"What?" She reached back to unclasp her bra. His mouth fell open comically. She grinned like a cat that had just caught a particularly clever mouse. "We should take a hot shower. It's not good to spend too much time in cold, wet clothing." She undid the strap in the back but did not remove the bra just yet. "Do you want to shower with me, Severus?"

It took all his willpower not to reply, "I want to do everything with you." He merely nodded. Smirking flirtatiously, she turned her back, took off the bra, and dropped it down the chute. She then did the same with her thigh-high stockings and knickers, winked at him over her shoulder, and headed into the loo. After a few seconds, he heard the shower.

He quickly divested himself of what was left of his clothing and hurried in after her. Steam was already rising in the bathroom, fogging up both the shower door and the mirror.

He stepped into the shower. She had her back to him, facing the shower-head with eyes closed, so he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"You're certain you want this?" he asked.

"No," she answered honestly. "But if I wait until I'm certain, it'll never happen..." She leaned back, resting her back against his chest, letting the water stream down her front. "And, in this moment, I want it to happen."

"Will you regret me in the morning?" He kissed her earlobe. She placed her arms over his, fully settled in his embrace.

"I don't think so."

"If you don't want to..."

"I want you." She extracted herself from his hold and turned to face him, letting the water run down her back. "I've been attracted to you for some time."

"Clearly, I feel the same."

She smiled. "Clearly. Have you ever had sex outside before, Severus?"

"Never." He leaned down and kissed her, a tender, lovely kiss. Then, though it was not easy to do so, he made a confession. "I've only ever been with one woman, Charity Burbage, who wouldn't have consented to anything quite so potentially public. She was the Muggle Studies professor who..."

"Oh, Severus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to her."

If it surprised her to learn he, too, had only ever been with one other person, she did not let on, for which he was grateful. As a man who'd spent two decades surrounded by the toxic masculinity that was the inner circle of Death Eaters, he was a bit sensitive about his lack of experience. Though he'd engaged in other activities with a handful of women, he'd always been bothered by the idea of bedding a woman who only wanted him to help herself rise in the Dark Lord's ranks, and there didn't seem to exist witches who had any genuine interest in him. As it was, he'd never actually _dated_ Charity. But she was homely and lonely and socially inept, not to mention stuck at Hogwarts for ten months of the year, and he was too. So they'd spent fifteen years getting sexual satiation from each other (off and on) without the emotional commitment of a real relationship. It had worked for him at the time, for a long time, as he'd never wavered in his love of Lily and devotion to her memory, but now... now, he wanted more.

He wanted Narcissa.

He wanted more from Narcissa.

Fuck, was he a romantic? He hoped not.

That sounded simply awful.

Their shower lasted much longer than showers typically should. During it, they kissed and touched and talked and washed each other, and she confessed that showering with her husband had been one of her favorite things to do, so he confessed that co-showering was another thing he'd never done.

They ended up, unsurprisingly, in bed, where they spent the next two hours doing more of the same – kissing and touching and talking, and then she took him in her mouth until he was spent, for which he returned the favor (judging by her reactions, he was better at this than he'd previously thought, as he brought her twice to orgasm in a matter of minutes).

She asked him to spend the night. They crawled under the covers, still naked, still so terribly exposed in more ways than one, and they'd actually fallen asleep without having sex again.

Shortly before midnight, a particularly loud clap of thunder woke her with a start. It took a second to remember she was in bed not with her husband, but with Severus, and though she felt an initial jolt of guilt and self-loathing, it quickly gave way to curiosity and need, as she began tracing her fingertips up and down his side, from his ribs to his hip and back again, until he stirred. She continued these ministrations, coming closer and closer to his growing erection with each stroke, until he groaned.

"Touch me, Narcissa," he asked. "I need you to..."

She took his length in her hand and he couldn't finish his sentence for moaning. Their lips met over and over again, as he threw off the blanket and she crawled on top of him. According to that vile wench quoted in the Prophet, this was her favorite position, riding her husband, holding the power. Though he did not want to think of himself as a convenient substitute for Lucius Malfoy, he hissed with gratification as she lowered herself over him and began to grind. She moved slowly, which was almost as painful as it was pleasurable. He massaged her clitoris with the pad of his thumb as she leaned back, causing him to hit her inner walls at a new angle, one he'd previously not experienced. When he thought he couldn't handle another moment like this without exploding he pulled her down into a searing kiss, then guided her off of him and onto her back. His mouth explored her breasts, taking one into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over her nipple as she gasped and writhed and begged him to be inside her again. He did the same to the other breasts and fucked her with her fingers but would not give into her demands, not yet, not until he was good and ready.

"You're so wet for me," he growled in her ear when he added a second finger to the first.

"Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, Severus, yes..."

And then, just when she thought she might die from the dizziness that invaded her brain as her orgasm built, he was inside her again. He was kneeling up, staring down at her, her knee bent. He held it tightly with one hand, kissed it, and used his other hand to touch her upper body, to caress her breasts, to work over her clit until she was again on the edge, crying out his name.

"Yes..." she cried. "Yes, yes... there... Oh... Severus..." She heard a noise. Her eyes, which had been half-closed with contentment, snapped open. "Did you hear something?"

It had been a click, she was sure of it, like the sound of a door closing, but she knew she hadn't left her door open, and could see that it was closed now.

"No," he said, not pausing in his movements. He liked her this way. She was on her back, facing up at him, with her right leg bent and her left down flat, giving him a perfect view of her body. He was pumping into her, holding her knee with one hand, the other still playing with her clit. "Did you?"

"I thought I did. Stop, let me listen."

He stopped. She listened. After a moment, she let loose a sigh of relief.

"I must have imagined it. I'm sorry. Keep going." She put a hand on his hip, coaxing him to continue. "Keep going, please. Please, I'm so close."

He leaned down, kissed her soundly, and was all-too happy to oblige.

Second later, she hit her peak for the third time that evening, and in response he came with even more force than he had outside by the tree. It drained him of his energy; he couldn't even muster the power to pull out and roll off her. Rather he collapsed with his chest to hers and remained there, sweat-drenched and satiated, until he slipped out naturally. Now he rolled off and was glad when she snuggled up beside him. She used wandless magic to summon the blanket back to the bed, covering them, and kissed his bare shoulder.

"You'll stay the night?" she asked. He nodded. "Good." She wrapped her arm around his waist. "I love my husband, Severus. I'll always love him. But I think I love being with you."

He nearly replied, "I love you," but knowing it was too soon (and would probably an incredibly stupid mistake) to do this, he simply said, "I know precisely how you feel."


	22. Confusion

STAGES **OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:**

 **CONFUSION**

When Severus awoke, it was to find Narcissa still snuggled securely against his side. They were both naked, and he didn't know about her, but it was the best sleep he'd gotten in years. His heart sank, though, as he realized she could awaken at any moment, look at him, assess their situation, and inform him she'd made a terrible mistake. She could be furious with him for not stopping her as he had before, or she could be hurt by his eagerness to be with her physically, as she might think that negated any of their previous platonic encounters. She might even think he'd been her friend, confidant, and comforter for these last ten months with the hope of getting her into bed at the forefront of his mind, when the truth was, though he'd been falling for her for some time, he'd never in all of their interactions had ulterior motives.

He was also unsure of how he should feel, and what this might mean, and whether a romantic relationship would be inevitable now, and if it was, what that might entail.

Matters had been cut-and-dry with Charity Burbage. Minerva McGonagall had insisted upon setting them up during his second year teaching (Charity's first) because she felt both were "lonely," which was true, but not something he wished to discuss with the Deputy Headmistress. Still, after a few months, he acquiesced to Minerva, consenting to taking the witch to dinner.

Charity taught Defense Against the Dark Arts that first year. Quirrell taught Muggle Studies and Severus was back in the potions lab, reluctantly, after having been turned down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Toward the end of the school year Charity been confronted by a Boggart she couldn't repel and had subsequently had a breakdown, hence her switch to teaching another subject (Astronomy) before she finally settled into Muggle Studies in 1990, upon the hiring of Aurora Sinistra (another professor with whom Minerva tried to get him better acquainted), while Quirrell was on sabbatical.

They'd gone out for their agreed-upon dinner one night shortly before Christmas while the students were on holiday. It was 1982. There had been no chemistry, to say the least. He was still absolutely broken-hearted over Lily's murder and losing the love they'd never truly share, and, he learned later, Charity was still reeling from having been dumped by her fiancé, who'd realized he was happier without a woman.

"I've been saving myself since sixth year for him," she said, before downing the last of her third firewhiskey. "Now I'm twenty-five, he's been gone for two years, dating gorgeous men all over Western Europe, and I fear I'll remain a virgin forever."

Severus, also a virgin, proposed their 'arrangement,' presenting it as if it was more a favor to her than to him. A week later, New Year's Eve, they slept together for the first time.

It wasn't great. It wasn't even good. But it was _something_ – and it got better. Though she ended up dating a handful of men over the next fifteen years, she always came back to him when the relationship ended, seeking someone familiar and non-judgmental and disinterested in an emotional connection or romantic attachment.

"It's easy with you," she said once. "I know where we stand."

It had been easy with her for him too, for exactly that reason.

But how could it ever be easy with Narcissa? How could he know where they'd stand?

And why did falling for her have him feeling guilty, as if he were being unfaithful to Lily's memory? Lily had never been his. She had never loved him as he loved her. She had never had any interest in him beyond friendship. So to feel guilty made absolutely no sense at all.

"You're too hard on yourself," Narcissa mumbled. She threw her leg over his and slid her upper body half over his chest, her arm securely around his waist. "We have no reason to feel guilty. They're both dead."

"But you do feel guilty," he guessed, not using Legilimency on her as she'd obviously been doing to him. "You feel as though you've been unfaithful to him."

"I know. But I shouldn't. And neither should you. Even if she had felt for you the way you wanted her to, she's been gone a long time. Whatever there is 'beyond the veil' or on the 'other side' or what-have-you, I doubt she's there furiously judging you for falling in l..." She cleared her throat and changed directions slightly. "For falling into bed with me. We can enjoy being together without it in any way impacting how much we loved – and still love – them." Though what Narcissa was saying made perfect sense, even _she_ didn't quite believe it. She'd woken up with a sick feeling in her stomach, feeling very much like she'd spent the night before cheating on her perfect husband. (Her perfect husband who cheated on her.)

"You think so?"

"Mm-hm. And even if Lucius is out there somewhere angry with me, well, at least I had the good sense to wait until he was dead before shagging someone else." She kissed Severus' bare shoulder. "He did another woman while I was right down the hall hosting a party. That's much worse."

"They shouldn't have printed that rubbish." He brushed aside her long hair and ran his fingertips up and down her spine. He wanted to find this Blythe Willow woman and hex her into oblivion for the pain she'd caused Narcissa, and after that he wanted to turn his wand on the editor of the Prophet.

"I still love him, though." Narcissa sighed as if this annoyed her. "I can't love him any less for it, hurt as I am. Did I tell you my sister had an affair?"

"Bellatrix?" He scoffed. "No. I'm shocked. She seemed so devoted to her darling Rodolphus. I'd never seen a couple more in love."

"Not Bellatrix, you sardonic old bat." She swatted his chest. "Andromeda. She had an affair when her daughter was small."

"Andromeda? Now I _am_ shocked. How do you know?"

So she told him all about her conversation with her sister and he listened. Then he told her about the time he kissed Lily Evans. It was his first kiss. He'd mentally geared up for it for years. And after three second of having their lips pressed together, she backed away, told him she liked him as "Only a friend," he'd said, "Oh, yes, me too," and they'd never spoken of it again.

When the clock chimed eight, he told her he would have to be leaving soon, as he had a meeting with a potential investor at nine-thirty and had to return to Spinner's End first to shower and gather the necessary materials before heading to Hogsmeade, but she was not quite ready to see him go.

"You can make love to me before you leave, can't you?" She stared up at him with wide blue eyes framed by dark lashes, blinked twice slowly, and tickled the sparse chest hair between his pectorals with her thumb and first two fingers, her thigh still draped across his groin. It may have been her eyes, or it may have been her word choice, or it may have just been the fact that he didn't have sex frequently enough to see himself passing up the opportunity, but he replied, "I've probably got plenty of time" before guiding her into a dizzying kiss.

They took their time and when they were done, she suggested he shower before leaving, since his laundry was clean anyway and that would save him time at home. He took her up on this, though he half-hoped she would end up in the shower with him so he could explore her further (even though it was now nearly nine).

He kissed her before departing, and promised he would return for dinner that evening.

He was outside in the blustery air of a late October day, almost to the wrought iron gates, and humming softly to himself for the first time in over twenty years when a stinging hex made contact with his back.

"Fuck!" He swiveled around, wand at the ready, at a loss for who he'd find. "Draco?"

"You stay away from my mother!"

The young man looked as though he hadn't slept. His clothes were disheveled, his hair was a tangled mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and fury contorted his sharp features. He greatly resembled his father toward the end of the war, when Lucius was quite literally falling apart from the stress of having repeatedly failed the Dark Lord and the fear his family would be killed for it.

"What are you talking about? Severus asked calmly, lowering his wand but not putting it away. "You asked me to help with your mother."

"I didn't ask you to fuck her in my father's bed!"

Severus remained expressionless, but on the inside he was sickened to know that Draco knew, and wanted to know how. Could Narcissa have told him? But when? And why?

"Your mother and I are friends," Severus began slowly. Draco shot off another stinging hex. Severus blocked it with Protego.

"Friends my arse! A _friend_ wouldn't have done that to her! She's fragile! She's emotionally broken! She's mourning my father and you – you dare to take advantage of that, to use her pain to your... your... to hurt her when she's most vulnerable? Have you been doing this to her all year, or did you simply spend all of 1999 grooming her to–"

"I am not a predator, Draco, and I resent the insinuation."

"It wasn't an _insinuation_ , Professor, I'm stating it flat-out! You took ten months to trick her into thinking you're her friend, that you care about her, and now–"

"I assure you, I _am_ her friend, and I _do_ care about her. And you."

He shouldn't have added the 'and you.' He knew that was a mistake immediately, as Draco's face screwed up into an expression of pure hatred. The boy's wand hand twitched but no hex or curse flew from it.

"You care about me?" Draco laughed derisively, almost madly. "Hardly! You were my father's friend, he saved your bloody life, and this is how you repay him? By abusing his wife? This is how you show you care about me? By assaulting my mother?"

"Your mother and I..."

"There is no 'my mother and you!'" Another stinging hex. Another Protego. Severus inhaled deeply and let it out slow, willing himself not to get upset. He wanted to ask Draco if they could sit down and discussion this rationally, or, even better, to take the conversation to Narcissa so she could support Severus in his promise that he hadn't been taking advantage of the fragile woman, but the investor meeting was of the utmost importance and he was in danger of being late.

"How could you?" shouted Draco, wand held out. "How could you _use_ her? How could you–"

"I love your mother."

This, too, was the wrong thing to say.

"CRUCIO!" yelled Draco. Again his attempts to harm Severus were held at bay by a simple Protego, but now Severus was nervous.

"If the Ministry learns you've used that–"

"Fuck the Ministry!" Draco shouted. "And fuck you!"

"I have a nine-thirty appointment I cannot miss. When I return tonight, perhaps you will have calmed down, sobered up, and gotten some sleep, and we can speak like rational–"

"You are no longer welcome here, Professor Snape," Draco said coldly. He lowered his wand but did not relax his glare. "Get off my property."

"Very well." Severus backed toward the gate, unwilling to turn around until he was certain a hex would not be forthcoming. When Draco stormed into the Manor, slamming the door, he knew he was safe. He strode quickly to the apparition point and disappeared.

A far cry from Wiltshire, in the modest home of Jonathon and Jean Granger, Hermione was sitting on the floor across from her two younger siblings, attempting to teach them the alphabet using a wooden letters puzzle.

"This is A. A, for apple or ant," she said, holding up the red letter. She handed it to baby sister Ophelia, who promptly stuck it in her mouth.

"A is the first letter of the alphabet. The second letter is B. B, for banana or bird." She handed this one to her sister too, since her brother had swiped the A away and was now trying to stuff the leg of it up his left nostril. Hermione took it away from him. "No, no, no, Orlando. We use letters to read and form words, not to put up our noses. Next is C." She held it up. "C, for chocolate or cat."

"I don't think they're terribly interested in your lesson, dear," said Jean Granger, entering with a tray of biscuits, tea for herself and Hermione, and sippy cups of milk for the fifteen-month-old twins.

"I knew all of my letters by this age, didn't I?"

Jean Granger smiled fondly at the memory. "Yes, but you were most unusual. You had this incredible knack for ending up with books in your lap that I was certain I'd placed on high shelves, but I never saw you getting them down. I thought perhaps you were secretly adept at crawling up the bookcase, but now I realize you must have used magic. You spoke early and well, and you were reading before most of your peers were out of nappies."

"Bissit!" shouted Orlando, tossing the wooden A to the floor and reaching up toward the tray. His mother handed him a biscuit. "Milk, milk! Lello! Lello!" She gave him the yellow sippy cup, as requested. She then placed the tray on the low glass-topped table in the center of the room and handed Ophelia her snack, a biscuit and the green cup.

"Nummm," drooled Ophelia, who wasn't talking much yet. She spit out the B and popped in the cookie instead.

Hermione smiled at them. Now that she didn't live with her parents, the babies seemed... cute. They didn't remember her from Easter, but six months is a long time when you're that young, she presumed. The twins looked a bit like her. Brown eyes, brown hair, two big front teeth (Orlando had ten total. Ophelia, who was considerably smaller, had only six). She would bet her wand neither of them were magic and found she kind of liked knowing this. Not that she needed to be a world apart from them, like some jealous child set on being special, but because she reckoned their lives would be a lot easier as the children of dentists without magic mucking it up.

"Now that we're all awake and calm," said Jean, handing a mug of tea to her daughter. "Would you mind explaining what happened last night?"

"Oh, Mum." Hermione shook her head and took a sip. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Back in Wiltshire, Narcissa was in a perfectly lovely mood. She hadn't seen her son all day, though she thought she heard sounds coming from his bedroom when she knocked, but she was looking forward both to tea with her sister and to seeing Severus for dinner.

Andromeda finally rang the bell around half past three. Narcissa opened it rather than sending a house-elf. "You're late."

"My apologies. My sitter cancelled." She had toddler Teddy balanced on her hip. He had pink frosting smeared across his face, the same shade as his pink hair, and there was a matching pink handprint over Andromeda's left breast. "Have you got anything stronger than tea?"

"You know I haven't. Come in. Hello, Teddy!" Narcissa took the boy from her sister but held him at arm's length, unwilling to wear his snack. She carried him into the kitchen and ordered Skittle, the gentlest house-elf, to clean him up.

"I can do that," said Andromeda. Narcissa held up a hand to stop her.

"You sit, relax. What's the point in having house-elves if they've never got anything to do? They get bored. Let Skittle handle him. And Skittle? After this, we'll be taking our tea in the library." She smiled at Andromeda. "Teddy can look through Draco's old picture books. I saved everything in case I ever had another child... or a great-nephew."

"I'm bloody exhausted." Andromeda collapsed into a chair and closed her eyes. "Teddy has decided he needs everything in his life 'just so.' Did I tell you about this yesterday? I can't recall; the days all run together. He always needs to use the blue cup, always eats the same porridge for breakfast, and he always sleeps under the purple blanket, which is all fine. But he also has to bid farewell to every single stuffed animal he has before we can leave the house. In order. And if I interrupt this heartfelt goodbye, he has to start again. Which is what took us so long today. I eventually bribed him out the door with this frosted cake I was saving for myself once he's asleep tonight. Oh, and he's decided it's funny when I say no. So if I say, 'Teddy, don't touch that,' he touches it immediately and laughs like he thinks he's funny. He's not funny."

"Teddy funny!" he shouted. He grabbed Skittle by her long nose. Narcissa slapped his hand, which, thankfully, Andromeda didn't see, as her eyes were still closed. He released the elf, looking pained though his great-aunt had barely touched him.

"You're not funny, Teddy. Nana is _very_ tired from you not listening. He's becoming such a toddler already. I thought I had another four-to-six months before we hit this stage."

"I'm certain it's not as difficult as you think," said Narcissa flippantly, apparently forgetting she'd had the help of her husband, mother, mother-in-law, and four house-elves when Draco was this age.

"Cissy, he's been climbing out of his crib when he's supposed to be asleep, which mean _I_ can't bloody sleep. I found him a two this morning dropping silverware into the toilet. Also _not_ funny."

Teddy, who apparently disagreed, dissolved into giggles.

Once he was clean (and Narcissa had Vanished the frosting from her sister's shirt) they settled in the library. Teddy busied himself not only with the books that had been Draco's, but a box of his old toys Narcissa found in the abandoned nursery. A quick spell cleared them of dust.

"When we last spoke, you were becoming increasingly intimate with your mystery man." Andromeda set her mug on her saucer, which was floating in the air in front of her. "You said you would see him again for dinner last night. So... any new developments?"

"Not really, no. Oh, except... perhaps a little." She smiled slyly.

"A little development? Do tell. Another kiss?"

"Another kiss, yes. And..."

"And...?"

"We spent the night together."

"What?" Andromeda jolted forward, very nearly knocking into her hovering teacup. "You did? When? How?"

"Last night, obviously."

"Last night! Did you...? I mean, did he only sleep, or were you both up all night, or did you..." Andromeda raised an eyebrow suggestively. Narcissa went pink, but with clear self-satisfaction rather than actual embarrassment.

"We did. Only three or four times."

"Three or four times in one night?"

"Mm-hm." Narcissa sipped her tea, trying to keep her smile from growing obnoxiously large. "Is your look of surprise because you think that's a lot, or a little?"

"Four times in one bloody night? Piss off, nobody has that much sex within an eight hour period. Hell, it's too much within a twenty-four hour period! You're lying."

"I most certainly am not."

"The most I've ever done it in one eight-hour period was twice. And that was with two different men."

"Well..." Narcissa sipped her tea. "You're a slag."

"Really, now? _I'm_ a slag? I'm not the one who shagged a man four times last night even though we're not even dating. You're not, are you? Dating, I mean? Last we spoke... Teddy, don't chew on that book!" (Teddy giggled and bit the book's cover again.) "Last time we spoke, which, may I remind you, was bloody _yesterday_ , you said he'd kissed you at the door after dinner once and that seemed like a major development."

"It was. And now we've developed further." Narcissa shrugged casually, but secretly she was loving this exaggerated reaction from her sister. "What about you? Any men since yesterday?"

"No, but then _I_ don't move faster than the Hogwarts Express. Teddy, bite that book again and I'll Vanish your teeth."

Narcissa flipped Andromeda off. Teddy, dropping the book, tried to copy but thankfully lacked the dexterity.

"Could I be candid with you, though?" Narcissa picked up her tea and saucer and moved to the chair beside Andromeda from the one across from her. "I woke up feeling sick with guilt. Like I'd done something awful to Lucius, like I'd betrayed him. Sev... er... my friend, he feels similarly, but in regards to his... former love. I assumed him he shouldn't feel badly for it, but how can I stop feeling badly for it?"

"How should I know? I felt the subtle nag of guilt the entire time I was having an affair, but that's different, and since Ted died I haven't even considered dating anyone else, save for... nobody." Andromeda was suddenly all-too-consumed with the design of her teacup, having nearly given away more than she'd meant.

"Nobody? What do you mean, 'save for nobody'? Who's nobody?" Narcissa grabbed Andromeda's arm. "Meda?"

Andromeda refused to meet her eye.

"Who is nobody?"

"No...body."

"Stop it. Spill."

"My tea? Won't that ruin this lovely wood floor?"

"You know what I mean. Who is this nobody?"

Andromeda gave a sigh of resignation. "Very well, I'll tell you. There's a man who takes his grandson to Teddy's Saturday morning playgroup." She looked annoyed, but inwardly she was relieved to be bringing him up to someone. "I saw him there as usual this morning and he asked me to dinner... to dinner without kids. He's raising his grandson, you see. His daughter is an addict; she's in a Muggle treatment program in Ireland, where his ex-wife lives."

"They're magic or Muggle?"

"He's a wizard, pureblood. His ex is a Muggleborn witch and the daughter's a Squib, but his grandson seems to be like us. He's only a few weeks older than Teddy."

"And this man wants to date _you_?" Narcissa whistled under her breath. "How sad. He must be _tragically_ lonely."

"It's statements like that which lend legitimacy to the popular belief that you're a bitch and a snob."

"I'm sorry! I wasn't serious!" Narcissa tried to put on her nicest face. "I'm genuinely sorry. I'll be nicer."

"It's fine, you under-stuffed mattress. May I continue?"

Narcissa dropped the sugary expression. "Naturally, you caustic old crone, please do."

Hours later, long after Andromeda and Teddy had gone home, Narcissa was again in the library. This time, she was sipping champagne straight from a bottle she found tucked away the bedroom Bellatrix had occupied during the war. Draco must not have thought to clear these unused, abandoned rooms of their alcohol. It was well-past ten at night, and Severus was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't come for dinner, hadn't sent a Patronus or owl with an explanation, nothing. He simply... hadn't shown. Which led Narcissa to two conclusions. One: something terrible happened to him, he was recovering in St Mungo's, and no one informed her as no one knew they meant anything to each other. Or Two: he was still feeling guilty about Lily, heartily regretted their night together, and did not wish to repeat it.

She felt like a horrible person for hoping for the former over the latter.

Three days later, depressingly out of alcohol again, and with a fresh burn on her forearm, Narcissa was prepared to sob herself to sleep when there was a soft knock at the bedroom door. She waved her wand to open it, hoping to see Severus and prepared to thoroughly punish him for this silence (unless he had good reason) but it was Draco who stood there. She hadn't seen much of him over these past few days. He rarely left his room, as far as she could tell.

"Come in, Draco."

"Mother? Are you... alright? Have you been crying over Father?"

"Fath... no. No, I... Draco, have you heard anything about Severus? Is he hurt? Or... dead? You would tell me if he were dead, wouldn't you?"

"Dead?" Alarmed, Draco entered further and closed the door. "Why would he be dead? Was something in the Prophet? I didn't see it."

"No, but he hasn't contacted me in days! Missed dinner the other night, hasn't written, nothing! I'm worried."

"Oh!" Draco sighed, relieved. "Oh, that. Don't worry, Mother. I took care of it."

"What do you mean?" She stood, pulled her dressing gown over her nightgown, and approached her son, feeling sick to her stomach. "Took care of what?"

"I found out what he was doing to you and I put a stop to it. You won't have to worry about him taking advantage of you anymore. He ought to be ashamed. I'm sure you are, but you needn't be. It's not your fault."

"What are you talking about?" The sick feeling in her stomach grew from the size of a Snitch to that of a Bludger. "Draco, did you do something to Severus?"

"I threw him out!" Draco answered confidently, puffing out his chest, feeling very much like his father would be proud. "You're quite welcome for it, too. I got him with a stinging hex first, I told him in no uncertain terms he wasn't to continue abusing you in _that way_ – or in _any_ way – and I ordered him to leave. Then I changed the wards around Malfoy Manor to protect you. Goyle is our new secret-keeper, just for now, and I fixed it so no owls from Snape can–"

 _SLAP._

"Ow! What was that for?" Draco backed away from her, bringing a hand to his stinging red cheek. "You hit me!"

"You're bloody well right I hit you! I've been miserable for days, waffling between thinking he must be dead and thinking I must be dead to him, and it's because you sent him away and ensured he can't return? Draco, how _could_ you?"

"I... I..." His gray eyes widened and began to water. "I thought I was helping you! I heard... I know... I found out what he's been doing to you! It's abhorrent! To have taken advantage of your fragility and your pain for his own personal sick twisted–"

"He hasn't been taking advantage of me, you overstepping prat!"

"Did you call me a–" His mother had never insulted him like that before. As a matter of fact, she wasn't certain he'd ever call anyone a prat before. As far as insults go, it seemed foreign on her tongue. "I don't understand!"

"I _like_ Severus! He makes me happy! Oh!" She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. "What he must think, when he couldn't find the place, when he couldn't come for dinner, and if he's been sending owls and they've been returning to him, or if... He must think I hate him! Draco! How could you do this to me?"

"I... I don't... but... Mother..." The watery eyes became crying eyes, as two fat tears escaped down his pale cheeks. "I thought I was protecting you!"

"I don't need you to pro... Are you crying?"

He sniffled and wiped his face with his sleeve. "No!"

"Why are you crying?"

"You hit me!"

"Not hard!"

"You hit my face!" He stomped his foot, his shoulders shook, and the crying became sobbing. The Quaffle-sized ball of upset in the pit of Narcissa's stomach grew ever larger, but now she felt sick over having hurt her precious son, who, it seemed, had somehow been transfigured back into his childhood form. He stomped his foot once more. "Mummy, now I have a hurt face!"

"Draco?" She was completely confused. As a teenager, he hadn't cried this much on the few occasions on which she'd slapped him for his tone, attitude, or swear words, and he hadn't thrown a temper tantrum since he was twelve. "Draco, love, what's wrong? Come, sit down, talk to me." She pulled him toward the bed, but he drew back.

"I... can't... s-sit... th-there!" He pointed at the bed, his arm trembling. "I KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENED THERE!"

Completely bemused, she wrapped an arm around him and led him back to the library. She sat on one end of the couch and encouraged him to settle beside her, but was surprised when he laid down on his side and placed his head in her lap, like when he was little and had tummy ache or fever.

"My sweet, perfect boy, why are you so upset?" She stroked his hair as she had back then, letting her nails scritch his scalp the way she knew he liked. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, held onto her knees, and continued to cry. "I don't love your father any less, if that's what's troubling you. He'll forever be the one true love of my life. Severus and I are friends, and sometimes friends... sometimes, adults... sometimes... we get lonely, too, Draco, that's all."

"It's... not... that! Her-Her-Her-Hermione's... _gone!"_

"Hermione's gone?"

"She le-left!"

"She left? Ohh, Draco." Perhaps this meltdown wasn't about Severus Snape at all, Narcissa realized. Perhaps that was just a catalyst. Still, it was strange, to see him carrying on like this at nineteen years of age. Was this normal, or was this because of all the years she spent coddling him, which Lucius warned would make him "soft"? Ultimately she was just happy her little boy could still come to her with his problems, especially considering her own difficult past year, thus she opted not to question or discourage this behavior... unless it should become a habit.

"I'm not happy, Mother!"

"I can see that. What happened? Did dinner with Potter not go well?"

"Potter wasn't bad. It was his stupid gin-ginger Weasley girlfriend, the Quidditch player. She said t-terrible things about Father. She didn't know what she was talking about, and I got angry, and once we were home, Her-Hermione s-said, she said she doesn't think she knows me, and what if I'm not... not re-reformed or some rubbish, as if I want Muggleborns dead or some-something. I don't know. She's g-gone for two weeks because she w-wanted some air!"

"Air?" Narcissa narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow. "That doesn't make sense, surely you misunderstood."

"I didn't! That's what she wants!"

"But we have air here. Did you offer to open a window?"

"SHE DIDN'T WANT AN OPEN WINDOW!" He choked back another sob. "WOMEN MAKE NO SENSE!"

Narcissa couldn't fight back the slightest chuckle. Her sweet, precious, perfect boy was both immature and growing up. He was in love... and love can be both a wonderful and terrible thing.

Narcissa could vividly recall the first fight she and Lucius had after they were married. It started over something small and stupid and spiraled out of control. She'd screamed and thrown a shoe in his general direction and he'd stormed out to a pub, labeling her "Crazier than bloody Bellatrix!" She'd been sure they were headed for divorce, which meant she'd be disgraced and die alone. She'd sobbed herself to sleep that night, too, but when she woke in the morning, her husband was beside her, as usual. He apologized and kissed her and assured her he loved her, but requested she keep her shoes on her feet the next time a disagreement broke out.

"Couples fight sometimes, Narcissa," he'd said. "It's not the end of the world."

But unlike during his childhood with Abraxas and Viola Malfoy, she'd never seen her parents so much as raise their voices to each other in her entire life, and had no idea such a thing was normal.

"Two whole weeks, Mother," Draco went on, now at least slightly calmer and no longer crying. "Two whole weeks she's gone!"

"Only two weeks?" She bent down to kiss his temple. "You can survive two weeks without her, love. She's just a girl. You've been through worse."

"But I don't want to go two weeks without her!" he whined. "Plus, what if she wants to make it permanent? What if she genuinely thinks, if given the chance to go back in time, I'd follow the Dark Lord with her on my arm? To spare her while killing her kind like Snape when he first learned Lily was a target! If we went back and that happened, how would I be? Would I think of my family only and not of her kind and ask for her to be spared but nothing beyond and live through our whole lives in the early eighties the way we would if it were the late nineties and there was no reason to defect, if we went back I mean?"

"Er... what?"

"With a Time Turner!" he cried, as if his mother should have the first idea what he was talking about. "Father followed the Dark Lord because he had good ideas at first, didn't he?!"

"But _did_ he?" Narcissa had done an awful lot of thinking about her own upbringing and blood-purity since losing her husband, seeing her son sent to Azkaban, and reconnecting with her estranged sister. "Perhaps what you need to do is prove to Miss Hermione Granger that you no longer look down upon Mudbl– excuse me, Muggleborns."

"I told her that!"

"But is it true?"

"I told her it's true!"

Narcissa smiled and resumed stroking his hair. "But _is it_ true?"

"I... I..." Draco thought about this. Was it true? If he was perfectly honest with himself... he couldn't say. He didn't think Hermione fit any of the stereotypes of Muggleborns and Mudbloods he'd been taught first as a child, then as a Death Eater. He loved her _even though_ she was born to Muggle parents... but he'd been glad to find there was a wizarding connection far back in her lineage... and he still had no desire to interact with _actual_ Muggles, completely non-magic folk, as the thought of accidentally brushing against one sort of made him shudder. He couldn't imagine ever respecting a blood-traitor family like the Weasleys or purposely seeking out a friendship with someone like Seamus Finnigan or those odd Creevey boys who'd worshiped Potter. He loved Hermione and was willing to interact with Longbottom and Lovegood - two fellow purebloods - because he loved her, but was that enough?

"Before you can show the girl you hold no remaining prejudices toward her kind, it may behoove you to find a way to stop holding onto those remaining prejudices toward her kind."

"You're wise and it annoys me," Draco pouted. His mother was right. But how would he do that? And how could he do that within two weeks, in an attempt to show her he was, at least, making an effort? "Mother, have _you_ stopped looking down on those we used to call Mudbloods?"

"No," she answered honestly. "But I suppose I'll have to, if I want to continue sleeping with a half-blood."

"That's disgusting." Draco sat up and shot her a sharp look. She laughed.

"Disgusting because he's a half-blood? My darling boy, it seems you have a long way to go if–"

"Disgusting because he's SNAPE! Really, Mother. Have you seen him?"

"Oh, _I've seen him,_ " she said suggestively, just to needle her son for the sake of her own amusement.

"NO! I meant... _that's vile, by the way..._ but I meant, he's Severus Snape, remember? Potions professor? Greasy hair? Chalk-white skin? That massive nose?"

"There's nothing wrong with having been a professor, his hair, while naturally oily, is clean, his pale complexion doesn't bother me, and you know what they say about men with massive noses."

He pulled a face. "I do _not_ know what they say, nor would I like to."

"They have massive... brains."

"You're teasing me."

"Yes, I am."

"Stop it. It's not fair to tease me when I'm already feeling miserable."

"My apologies, darling. I'll wait until you're feeling better and tease you then."

"Why do you like him? Him, of all people? Father's closest friend, a traitor? It's not fair _he_ got labeled a war hero and _Father_ got..."

"Your father... your father had a number of wonderful qualities, Draco, and I shall always love him for the person and husband and father he was, but..."

"But?"

"But he did a number of terrible, terrible things. And unfortunately, those terrible things are what he's always going to be known for, as least in the eyes of the greater wizarding world. They'll never know him as we did, and we'll never see him as they do."

"He could be cruel even to me sometimes," Draco admitted, though since the execution he'd tried to bury the negative memories of being bullied by his father under the positive ones on which he preferred to dwell. "But I miss him every day."

"As do I." She took his face between her hands and kissed his forehead. "And I always will. I love him and I love you, Draco. You're the two most important people in my life and nothing will ever change that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to shower, dress, and see a friend on a street called Spinner's End. I'd appreciate it if Goyle has been relieved of his secret-keeping duties before I return."

"Fine," he said grudgingly. "When will you return?"

"If all goes well, not until tomorrow morning." She stood and kissed the top of his head, ignoring the exaggerated way he'd started to pantomime vomiting as he realized she intended to spend the night with Snape. She lightly smacked the back of his head. "Grow up!"

"Fine. See you tomorrow, then."

"Yes, goodbye until then, darling. As for this business with your little magic Muggle Girl Potter, I have faith you'll come up with something."

He snickered. "I've told you dozens of times, her name is not Girl Potter!"

"Sorry. I'm getting old. I'm forgetful." She smiled. He reluctantly returned the smile. "Draco, I love you."

"Goodnight, Mother." He flopped onto his back, not ready to be done feeling sorry for himself, even though she'd made him feel a little better. "I love you, too."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Draco's a bit juvenile in this chapter, but don't worry - once he's done with his little pity-party, meltdown, and temper tantrum, he'll pick himself up and try to win back the witch he loves. :)

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this fic, and especially those who shared their thoughts on the last couple of chapters (lseult, PopularCats, lilikaco, Vani12, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Little Witch 1, Chelsea always, Snowflake Dazzle, clarasnotlikely, FrancineHibiscus,purplehedgehog13, sassanech...). Your in-depth responses bring me joy and keep me going! I look forward to and appreciate every single review, long, short, or in-between. And one recent one prompted me to go with an idea for the second to last chapter that I'd been back-and-forth on, so thank you for that, but I can't be more specific without giving stuff away.

Thx to everyone for reading and following and adding to faves!

 **-AL**


	23. Fear

**A/N:**

The next chapter (24) was supposed to directly follow the last (22), but I felt bad about skipping over both their reunion and Halloween so I added this new chapter to transition and character-build, and then decided to structure it a little differently – note that the days skip back and forth, so it's not linear. The next chapter (Reconstruction) is formatted in the usual style.

Thanks! Hope you enjoy!

 **-AL**

* * *

 **STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:**

 **FEAR**

 **Severus & Narcissa**

 **Four Days Before Halloween**

"Are you hungry?" Severus kissed Narcissa's bare abdomen. They were in bed, where they'd spent the bulk of the last thirty-six hours, having a lie-in. She was wearing her knickers and his soft black t-shirt, one she was surprised to find in his wardrobe as she'd never seen him don anything so casual. He wore cotton pajama bottoms with no shirt, and she had her right hand threaded under his hair, her long nails scratching lightly against the back of his neck. They'd become intimately comfortable with each other rather quickly, but both battled lingering feelings of guilt, which they'd discussed extensively the night before.

"Hungry? I'm _famished_. But there's no food here, remember?"

"We could go out." He kissed her lower belly again, just above the waistband of her knickers, and considered going lower.

"We'd have to get dressed." She guided him up until they were face-to-face. Her nose brushed against his. She tilted her head, barely touching his lips with her own as she spoke. "I'm sorry I cried so much last night."

" _Am I_ taking advantage of you?"

"No, of course not," she said reassuringly, slipping her arms around his waist as she placed a quick kiss on his lips. She liked the feel of his weight on top of her. She'd loved being in this position with Lucius, even though sometimes he fell asleep this way and she had to wake him so she could breathe properly. "But I remain conflicted. How do you suppose Lucius would feel if he knew about us?"

"Were he alive, I imagine he wouldn't like it much."

She chuckled and pushed him off her. "Very funny."

"Let's shower, dress, and get something to eat. There's a Muggle café walking distance from here. They had a small selection of scones, croissants, soft-boiled eggs and toast, nothing ostentatious, but the food is good."

"A Muggle place?" She thought about her conversation with Draco the night before last. To convince Hermione he was past his old prejudices, he would have to actually get past them... and so would she. "A Muggle place sounds lovely."

 **Draco**

 **Two Days Before Halloween**

Draco was over feeling sorry for himself. He'd cried, he'd broken a few things, he'd whined to both Crookshanks and Goyle, he'd eaten no less than seven Chocolate Frogs (three Dumbledores, two Merlins, a Celestina Warbeck, and a Ronald Weasley he'd torn into tiny pieces), and he'd even tried his hand at cherries jubilee, his first flambéed dessert.

Now it was time to pick himself up and move on. No, not _on_. Forward. To move _forward._

But what if he couldn't? What if he'd damaged their relationship irreparably? What if he tried to get past his old prejudices, as his mother suggested, only to find it impossible?

He needed help.

"This would've been a great topic of discussion for me and my Ministry Mentor," he lamented to the ginger half-kneazle, who was staring intently at the fireplace as if expecting a call via Floo. "My father is gone, my mother is moving on, and my girlfriend is wondering whether she even knows me. There's nothing I can do about the first two things... but surely I can manage to rectify the third. The trouble is, what if she gets to know me, and doesn't like me?"

"Mrow," said Crookshanks, not blinking nor diverting his gaze.

"I know, she'd have to be barmy not to like me, right? But what if she doesn't?"

This was an odd concept, one that made him uncomfortable to say the least. Despite all he'd been through and all he'd experienced at Hogwarts, he considered himself a likable bloke, at least as far as girls were concerned. Pansy had liked him, obviously, but she hadn't been the only one. He'd caught the Greengrass girls giggling in his direction at Hogsmeade a few times, Patience Krueger had slipped him those notes in History of Magic with the XOXOs under a curly cursive "SHHHH - Secret!" on the back several times during fifth year, and didn't Meredith Meyers look disappointed when he said he already had a date for the Yule Ball? Even now, even with his family's reputation, he knew that young women liked what they saw when they looked upon him. Much like his father, he was used to cashiers touching his hand just a second too long when he handed them the right number of galleons, and young mums smiling wistfully at him on the street over the heads of their snuggled toddlers, and it wasn't uncommon for him to receive a wink with his meal when dining at restaurants where sultry-eyed witches worked.

Plus, and perhaps most importantly, the Prophet had described him thusly: _"The spitting image of his famously handsome late father, Draco Malfoy is smooth, sly, overconfident, and far better looking as a still-maturing teenager than most wizards could hope to be even in their mid-twenties."_ Of course, the Prophet had gone on to say, _"It is unclear what plain-faced Muggleborn war hero Hermione Granger could possibly see in the pompous pureblood, as it was previously thought that brains like hers were more likely to be attracted to those with similar intelligence rather than men whose greatest asset could be summed up as 'traditional good looks.' This, coupled with their opposing sides throughout the war and their reported mutual loathing throughout their school years, makes them quite the unlikely pair."_

In other words, they dubbed him attractive but stupid while declaring her brilliant but mediocre looking, a couple of opposites that should not attract.

"She's perfect looking, Crookshanks," he muttered, pulling on his brand new trainers and scanning the room for his dark gray pullover. He was headed to a Muggle bookstore for the first time in his life and he wanted to look the part. "She's perfect, and I'm not a prat."

 **Narcissa and Severus**

 **Five Days Before Halloween**

It was dark, it was cold, and it was raining. Not the torrential downpour of the evening they were together for the first time, but a cold and steady rain. She apparated to the same place in the woods where she'd appeared the day she went to him at Spinner's End to beg help for Draco in his task. She heard a noise, lit the end of her wand, and glanced to her right, half-expecting to see her sister there, wand at the ready, about to kill an innocent fox. But of course, that was silly. The fox was long gone and her sister was long gone.

That had been the third and last time she'd called upon Severus Snape at his home, the home in which he'd grown up. Twice she'd gone with Lucius, and that last time, with Bella, though she hadn't asked to be accompanied.

"He lives here?" Bellatrix had asked incredulously, upon setting eyes on the dusty cobblestone street of decrepit Muggle rowhouses, each with its own patched up roof and a little shack out back for a toilet. For the first time, Narcissa wondered whether Severus' home had running water. Surely it must, being nearly the year 2000, and with him being a wizard – even if modern plumbing was somehow yet to come to the neighborhood, certainly he wouldn't be going without it.

She held her shawl tightly around her neck, over her hair and shoulders, but the wind threatened to steal it away as it had the evening they'd first been together outside against that tree. The memory, obviously still fresh, both made her stomach flutter and induced a tugging sensation in her lower abdomen, but this was followed by the feel of bile rising in her throat. What if he was angry or hurt by her silence and his inability to reach her? What if he decided she and her son weren't worth his time? Or worse – what if he hadn't tried to reach her? What if, just as she'd feared, he was intentionally staying away?

"Bes' get ow th'rin!" called an elderly, toothless gentleman from the front yard (if it could be called a yard) of one of the homes. He was dragging a red wagon, the type children use, toward the house, which was a picture far more ominous than it should have been – the one working streetlamp flickered and the moon was nearly hidden by clouds, which she supposed added to the creepiness of the moment. "Getton, then! Gon' t'be-a nassty strrrm!"

It took Narcissa a second to mentally process and decipher what he'd just said. Between the thick accent (typical of Cokeworth? She had no idea. She hadn't heard _anyone_ speak quite like him before) and the pounding rain, it wasn't easy.

"Thank you, yes, I'll get inside," she replied before hurrying off to the last home on the dead-end road. A leaning box out front with a tiny flag on the side had his surname painted on it, though two letters had chipped off completely, reading SN_P_.

He opened the door before she knocked.

"I couldn't find Malfoy Manor," he said. "It was as if it had been made Unplottable."

"It had." She was standing on the top step, just outside, the rain bearing down on her, desperately hoping he'd invite her in. "Draco made Gregory Goyle our Secret Keeper. I had no idea."

"You must be freezing." He stepped back to grant her entrance. "And you're soaked straight through. Don't you know the Impervius charm?"

"In a Muggle neighborhood? Would that not look suspicious?"

"When I could not reach you, I thought perhaps you regretted... me." He pressed the wall to her right and it slid open, revealing the book-lined sitting room in which they'd made the Unbreakable Vow.

"I thought the same, of you. I thought... I thought you might not want me after all."

"How could I not want you? Come..." He pulled her into the center of the room, opposite the fireplace. "Warm up. Let me." He took her shawl and tossed it to the side. Of its own accord it levitated into the hall, hanging itself on the coat rack. He used his wand to dry her, then stood behind, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "This dress... I don't know that I've ever seen you in short sleeves."

"I was always afraid the Dark Mark would come back and people would see. Now I don't wish for anyone to see the scars..."

"But you're wearing a short-sleeved dress tonight. When it's cold. Why?"

"It's the only blue-green one I own." She turned to face him, a nervous smile on her lips that made him want to kiss her. "You said it's your favorite color, didn't you? The color of the Mediterranean Sea?"

"You remember that?" He'd told her his favorite color back in December, during their very first conversation after Draco approached him for help. She had been so broken then, barely functioning. She'd asked about his childhood presumably hoping for a distraction from her pain, and he'd told her about his one good memory – the time he and his mother went on holiday without his father, to Barcelona. They'd gone out on a boat. Severus, perhaps six or seven years of age, had been completely enthralled by the beautiful blue-green of the sea. Once they were far out enough, he was permitted to jump off the side and swim for the very first time – if thrashing and spitting and kicking to stay afloat could be considered 'swimming.' His mother, laughing, had jumped in after him, held him, and taught him how to float on his back, the sea below and all around him, the blue cloudless sky above.

He wanted to stay out there on the water forever, but four days into what he'd thought was a vacation, his father found them and demanded they return home. It turned out his mother hadn't taken him on holiday... she'd taken their clothes and their savings and left abusive alcoholic Tobias Snape.

Severus could vividly recall hiding in the closet of their tiny hotel room, hoping beyond hope that his mother would send his father away, that they would never have to return to the dark, damaged home on Spinner's End, where everyone yelled and the only water nearby was in the dirty gray river that separated his former factory neighborhood from the 'good side' of town.

His hopes were all for nothing. His father didn't shout or hit his mother or even threaten her. What he did was much worse. He promised he'd never hurt her or Severus again, promised he'd quit drinking and go back to work, promised things would be different... and she believed every word. Severus' Legilimency abilities were rudimentary at best at the time, but he didn't need the skill to know his father was a liar. Sure enough, after they'd had about three good weeks in Cokeworth, one night Tobias Snape staggered home late from the pub, roared in anger over his dinner having gone cold, and left Eileen Prince with a bruised cheek and a broken heart.

"You're beautiful in this dress," Severus said, putting the memory out of his mind while slipping one arm around Narcissa's waist. She was, too. It brought out the blue of her eyes and was complimented by the white-blonde of her hair. The neckline was low enough to entice while leaving more than enough to the imagination, though the tight fit in the waist left little. "You're beautiful in everything. And in nothing."

"I don't deserve you," she whispered, sliding her hands up his chest and clasping them at the back of his neck.

"You deserve better," he said, voice low.

"You don't think highly enough of yourself. I wish you could see what I see."

"I only see you... and I like what I see." ( _Damn it,_ he thought, pulling her closer. She was right. He was indeed a bloody romantic. He sounded like one of the tanned, muscular love interests in those smutty romance novels his mother used to read when his father was asleep. He knew because he'd read a few, too, once he ran out of other options around age twelve. They hadn't been his cup of tea, but they were eye-opening.)

"You're flirting with me, Professor." Narcissa smiled coyly up at him, her eyes wide and blue, as blue as a Mediterranean. "You're not one to be overly flirtatious, but as much I as enjoy your dry cynicism and acerbic wit, I find I like this soft side of you... Do go on."

"You're beautiful."

"I know. What else?"

"I fancy you."

"I knew that, too. What else?"

"I've never felt with another woman what I feel with you and, to be candid, it frightens me." His voice was not light and teasing anymore, but serious and genuine, with a hint of vulnerability. She met his eye, hoping he would see in her expression how she felt about him, even if she couldn't quite voice it.

"It frightens me, too, Severus," she whispered. "Where do we go from here?"

He did not speak his answer.

Instead, his mouth met hers.

Her knees went weak.

And she melted.

 **Hermione**

 **One Day Before Halloween**

Hermione busied herself in the kitchen, trying to pretend she couldn't hear her parents arguing in the next room. Though they 'shouted' in whispers, their words carried across the first floor of the modest home, and she couldn't risk going upstairs to her bedroom where the twins were napping in their cribs. When she was a kid, she never worried about her parents. Draco had told her how, in retrospect, he was glad to have grown up with a mother and father who were overly enamored with each other rather than parents who fought all the time until waging war during a bitter divorce, and she'd told him that while her parents were not overly affectionate (with each other or with her) they were happy and loving and she wouldn't want them any other way.

Now she worried one of those bitter divorces was on their horizon.

"It hasn't been easy rebuilding my practice!" her mother hissed. "Most of my patients were shocked and angered by my sudden departure and are not interested in returning to me! Besides, the twins need me at home as much as possible. I don't want them raised in a daycare!"

"I'm not upset about that!" whispered her father furiously. "It's the unnecessary bills that bother me! You're not making any money, fine, but you're spending enough to–"

"On the babies! They need things!"

"They don't need half the things you buy! Look at this bank statement. Look at it!"

"I can bloody see it, Jonathon." She exhaled gruffly. "Sometimes I wish we'd never left Australia."

"We weren't real people in Australia, remember, dear?" He said 'dear' so that it sounded more like an insult than a term of endearment.

"Maybe I liked not being real people! Maybe I liked being Monica Wilkins! Maybe I liked you better as Wendell Wilkins, adjunct English professor, than I do as–"

"Well now we've hit on it, haven't we? You liked me better when you thought I was somebody else!"

Hermione flipped her fried egg and sniffled, determined not to start crying. She'd cried enough over the last few days. She couldn't possibly cry anymore. She needed to pull herself together, get back to work (it was Saturday, a dreadful day), and forget everything all of this, what she'd done to her parents, what she'd said to Draco, what Ginny had stated during dinner... all of it.

But she couldn't. Forgetting didn't help matters. And forcing her parents to forget her – and themselves – for a year hadn't helped either. Sure, it had kept them alive, but they might also have stayed alive if she'd told them what was happening and pushed them into hiding. Losing their identities and creating two new babies hadn't seemed to help them in the long run. (Not that she hadn't grown to love her siblings.)

"Everything seemed easier a year and a half ago!" her mother exclaimed in a voice just above a whisper. "We didn't have to explain ourselves to everyone! 'Where were you? Why did you disappear? Who ransacked your house? Why wasn't your mail forwarded?' Eighteen months ago, our neighbors didn't think we'd done something criminal! Eighteen months ago, we didn't have to worry that one of our children might be hopelessly depressed and that the other two might be... you know..."

"A witch and a wizard?" her father finished. "I know!" He dropped his voice even lower. They must be afraid she was listening. "I was proud and excited when we learned Hermione was..."

"As was I!" said her mother. "But after all we know now..."

"I wouldn't send her to that death trap school, if we could go back," her father muttered. "To find out later how many times we could have lost her!"

"To think of her out on her own with that boy for a year, hiding from would-be murderers!"

"She would have been better off if we'd told that McGonagall woman thank you, but no thank you, and sent her to a real school!"

"She's always been a bright girl. She could have been a doctor! Or an author! Or a professor!"

In unison, her parents said, "Or a dentist!"

Hermione slid the egg from the pan to her plate and clenched her teeth to keep from crying. Anything to keep from crying. She wanted to go home – home to Malfoy Manor – but after leaving the way she had, even though she'd said it was only for two weeks, how could she? How could she and Draco fix their relationship now, after she'd gone so far as to suggest he wasn't truly reformed, that he'd be the type to protect her while not batting an eye while people like her parents were murdered? What an awful and hurtful thing to have said, even if she genuinely worried it was true.

She sniffled and the tears came.

She was terrified she'd ruined _everything_.

 **Draco**

 **The Night Before Halloween**

Draco had just finished the book when Skittle the house-elf popped in to ask whether he intended to eat dinner tonight.

"I think I will, Skittle," he said. He stood and stretched. His limbs were sore from having been curled in his father's favorite armchair in the library for hours. "Cottage pie, gillywater. I'll take it in here, in front of the fire."

"Yes, Master Malfoy." Skittle bowed. Draco grimaced. What would Hermione think of this subservient behavior?

"Er, thank you, Skittle. And... uh... Happy Halloween."

Skittle beamed. She'd never been thanked by the boy before, not in all the years she'd been with the Malfoy Family... which predated his birth by at least six months. After bowing several more times, she disappeared with a Pop.

He set the book down on a tall table. He'd made notes. It was much like being back at Hogwarts, except he couldn't recall ever having taken such extensive notes at Hogwarts, not even fifth year when preparing for O.W.L.s. But this book was special. It was a Muggle psychology textbook, the one he'd seen inside Hermione's bag dozens of times when she'd come to Mentor him. He'd asked her about it once and she'd said she found it more useful than _any_ of her Ministry training sessions or informational pamphlets. It taught her all about the human psyche, how to help people through their struggles, and, even though this was not the point of it, how to break former Death Eaters of their dependence on substances and their dismay over having lost the world they thought they knew.

If he was going to understand Muggles, understand Hermione, understand himself, and, most importantly, understand how to move forward from here, it made sense that this book would be the place to start.

While he waited for Skittle to return with his dinner, he ran his fingertips lightly over the book's thick cover, tracing the letters in the title with his index finger:

STAGES OF GRIEF

 **Narcissa and Severus**

 **Three Days Before Halloween**

"Tell me, Severus Snape, is your home always such a mess?" Narcissa asked teasingly, as she sorted through the books on Severus' bedroom floor.

It was early morning – they hadn't even had breakfast yet – but she'd insisted upon cleaning the room first thing. Hence why she was sitting with her knees to one side, her back against the bed, the skirt of her dress fanned out in front of her. Her hair was loose and messy from sleep, she hadn't even braided it or pulled it back as she did most days, and he couldn't help wishing he had a camera to capture her in this position, in this light.

"I swear I've no idea why you'd ask such a question." He was sitting on the bed, also in a position more casual than usual, deciding which books should stay upstairs and which needed to move back down... and which needed to be given away, as Narcissa pointed out that he had no space to keep them all, especially as he refused to shrink them down, claiming it permanently damaged the bindings. She also wanted to throw some of the more beat up tomes in the bin, but he intended to rescue them from it later.

"Severus Snape, I have a massive bruise on my lower back from having sex on top of this hardcover the other night." She held up the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook used during his one year of teaching the subject. "The corner stabbed me in places I don't usually allow myself to be stabbed."

"And where do you allow yourself to be stabbed?" He leaned over the edge of the bed and kissed the side of her neck.

"Your sitting room is as neat as my sister Andromeda's house, every book in its place, not a speck of dust, and your kitchen cabinets are immaculate, but your little office is completely coated in paperwork–"

"Can an office be _coated_ in paperwork?"

"And, in addition to all of the rubbish on your bedroom floor and on every available surface, there were more books in your bed the other night than there are in some libraries. How do sleep?"

"Usually? Alone, surrounded by books." He used his wand to levitate those he'd just sorted to their proper piles: those meant of his office on the small desk, those meant for downstairs by the door, and those meant for donation or the rubbish bin on the nightstand.

The night she'd arrived they hadn't talked much. From that first kiss, they moved quickly up to his bedroom, undressing each other upon entry, and they'd fallen onto the bed. More accurately, they'd fallen into the books all over the bed. She made no mention of the papers on his floor that had managed to escape the small office (what was to be his childhood bedroom, but halved to make room for a small bathroom) or of the fact that clothes were strewn over his desk chair, the baseboard, and left in piles on the floor, or of the half-gone Butterbeer in a bottle on his nightstand... until the following day. And the day after that.

No, in the moment they'd been too wrapped up in each other and in their own relief, as each had spend the past seventy-two-plus hours certain whatever was growing between them had died, and so when he said, "I could move these," she'd said, "Don't bother," and they'd made love just like that, with the blankets a mess and literature and textbooks all around.

He was naturally neat and tidy in most aspects of his life. Even if he'd wanted to let things go, for so many years as a spy he couldn't afford to be messy. But the one place he never managed to keep organized was his bedroom, his sanctuary, where he let himself spread out and just 'be.' Considering the fact that no woman had thus far ever seen his bedroom, it had never seemed necessary to live any other way. Even at Hogwarts he always went to Charity' chambers – she never came to him.

Narcissa put up with this disaster zone initially, figuring perhaps he'd been depressed in her absence and thus let things fall away, but when it became clear he was content to live in a bedroom that looked like a speeding library-on-wheels had collided with a wizards' clothing shop she put her foot down – no food, reading, brewing, or sex until the room was utterly spotless.

That last one had spurred him to action.

 **Hermione**

 **Halloween Morning**

"They look adorable, Mum!" Hermione cried, taking little Ophelia from her mother's arms. The twins were dressed up for Halloween, headed to a toddler costume party with her mother while her father was at work, doing an emergency root canal even though it was a Sunday. Because he hadn't owned his own dental practice as her mother had, Jonathon was able to return to his old job with relative ease. It was not so simple for Jane, who'd had her own small pediatric dental office.

"Who's a cute little Missy Mouse?" Hermione asked Ophelia, nuzzling her cheek. When she caught her mother's eye, though, her smile abruptly dissipated. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Minnie. Minnie Mouse. Not Missy."

"Oh, I was close." Hermione bounced the little one lightly. Orlando, in his mother's arms, was dressed like the male counterpart to Minnie Mouse: Mickey. They both wore hats with round black ears and white gloves they refused to keep on. Hermione smiled at her mother again, but it wasn't returned. On the contrary, her mother looked on the verge of tears, a look Hermione knew all-too-well, having seen it in the mirror all week long. "Mum?"

"It's like you're not part of our world at all anymore, Hermione! How could you forget Minnie Mouse? _You_ dressed as Minnie Mouse when you were three. You _loved_ Minnie Mouse! We wanted so badly to visit the Disney World, but America was simply too far away, and when they opened one in France, we went together, remember? The summer of 1993? And you hardly seemed to care. You were all-consumed with your studies, you wanted to rewrite some history essay to include the witchcraft of France. We met Mickey and you... you... you hardly had time to smile for a picture!"

To Hermione's horror, her mother did indeed burst into tears, loud, wet, hacking sobs. This seemed to come as a shock for the twins, and both promptly copied her.

"Mum! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, but I was nearly fourteen then. I was a bit old for Minnie Mouse, don't you think? It's not about not being part of... of the Muggle world... but..."

"You called her Missy Mouse!" Jane Granger set Orlando down on the floor. "I need a moment!"

Hermione sat on the floor across from him, Ophelia wriggling and whining in her arms. She flinched when she heard the sound of her parents' bedroom door slam and it immediately forced her mind back to the massive row they'd had on Christmas, the one that made her late to Malfoy Manor (and prompted her to move in with Neville shortly thereafter). It had started when she told them she intended to leave before dessert to spend time with a Mentee. They'd started talking about the war, about what she'd done, about what a mistake it was for her to have gone underground "practically alone" for an entire year, the same old things, but it had culminated with her mother saying, "It's as if we don't even know you anymore, Hermione!" and Hermione shouting, "Well that makes three of us, because I hardly know myself!"

She felt so lost in those months after the war, especially once the initial relief died down (and once her relationship with Ron fizzled away). Being a Mentor let her escape into other people's problems, helping them, while she ignored her own. But perhaps she'd pushed too fast. She'd spent six months with Draco, labeled him reformed, and started dating him, but if she hardly knew herself – and, in many ways, that remained the case – how could she expect him to, when his life had been turned completely upside down in ways she couldn't imagine.

One more week, she told herself. One more week with her parents, and then she'd return to Malfoy Manor, have a heartfelt chat with Draco – assuming he still wanted to move forward – and one more week to focus on finding herself... _alone_... before they worked on finding themselves together.

But in the interim, how could she make things right with her parents?

 **Severus**

 **Halloween Afternoon**

He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten good and drunk.

But he was getting good and drunk.

He'd started shortly before what most people would consider lunchtime and he did not intend to stop until he passed out or all the liquor in the home had been consumed. Or until the day was done. Whichever came first.

Was it possible to love two women at the same time?

Had he ever truly loved the first?

He thought he had. He thought he always would.

Always.

But he'd never considered how different it would feel to love someone who might - someday - love him back.

Did he deserve to be loved back?

Could he truly love her if he never stopped loving... her?

What if he fell only to find she didn't feel the same?

What if she decided they were better as 'just friends' instead?

What if she turned out to be another Lily?

He couldn't do it again.

He couldn't open his heart.

He couldn't risk getting hurt.

He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't.

And yet...

 **Draco and Narcissa**

 **Halloween Evening**

It was shortly after dinner on Sunday, Halloween. It had been a picturesque fall day, not bitterly cold, no rain, but there was a wind in the air that made the branches of each tree sway, causing them to drop what few leaves were left. Draco was settled in his father's favorite armchair by the fire rereading Stages of Grief Chapter Twelve: Transference, with Crookshanks curled up on the rug by his feet, when his mother entered the library.

"Mother? A pleasant surprise! I thought perhaps you'd forgotten where we live, thus I'd have to send out a search party. I thought perhaps the place was still Unplottable, thus you were unable to return. I thought perhaps you..."

"He said he wanted to be alone."

"Excuse me?" Draco set down the book, his page dog-eared (Hermione would not like to see that!).

"I've been home since late last night. He said he wanted to be alone today and that he would call upon me tomorrow. I don't understand why. Things were going so well, I thought. He said he wasn't angry, I hadn't done anything, but he had to have a day. That's what he said." She settled in the leather-backed armchair opposite Draco. "Do you suppose he needs air? That's not a joke. I am genuinely lost."

"One day isn't much time for a..." Draco glanced down at his notes. "Mother, do you think you love Professor Snape?"

"What?"

"I only ask because... and please, don't take this the wrong way... but this book has a chapter on transference. Sometimes when we experience a major loss, we _transfer_ our feelings from the one we lost to another, as we're in search of anyone or anything to take its place. And I've been thinking, you started seeing Severus because you needed help after Father's execution. And now you think... now you're... you..." He cleared his throat. There was no way to end that sentence that didn't make him sick to his stomach. "Has it occurred to you that you might be _transferring_ your feelings for Father onto him? Especially once you found out Father had... betrayed you... by having an affair. Perhaps you're getting back at him by being with his friend? Or perhaps you're so lonely and broken-hearted by his death that the only way to pull yourself out of a deep depression is by finding someone else with which you can share those... sorts of feelings. You've _transferred_ your love of father onto a lo...a liking of Severus Snape? _Transference_."

Her blue eyes flashed and narrowed and he was glad he was not sitting within striking distance... at least not with her hand. He couldn't see her wand.

"Sounds like what you're saying, Draco, is that you chose to deal with the loss of your father by falling for a girl you knew he would not approve of and now you're _transferring_ your guilt and confusion about that onto me as if I, too, have the maturity level of a teenager."

"And contrariwise..." He ignored this dig by his mother, realizing that defensiveness was a coping mechanism, thanks to Chapter Nine. "Professor Snape – Severus – is _transferring_ his unhealthy adoration for and obsession with Lily Potter onto you, because with the Dark Lord's defeat, and in being willing to give his life while helping to keep Potter alive, his debt has been repaid, thus leaving him open to..."

"Lily Potter!" Narcissa jumped up, realization dawning across her face. Draco nodded vigorously, glad she was getting it.

"That's right, Lily Potter. He has been _transferring_ his unrequited love of..."

"No, Draco. Lily Potter – she's the reason he wants to be alone today. It's Halloween! The Dark Lord's first fall was on Halloween, the night he failed to kill Potter, the night he murdered Lily and her husband. Here I was afraid he was questioning our... our friendship, but... How did I not see it?" She threw up her hands and looked to the ceiling. Crookshanks looked up too, as if hoping there'd be something good up there, but, disappointed, he mewed and settled back down. "Draco, love, I wanted to be alone to grieve in those early weeks, remember? Months, even! I wanted to be alone to wallow in my own despair and drink and cry and hurt myself... for all we know, he's doing the same, right now! He may do this every year. I might do it every year. I don't know how I'll feel when your father's 'anniversary' comes around., but I imagine the pain of knowing it's been a year will... He made me leave so he can be alone to grieve, but that's ridiculous. He was with me all through my... everything. Every time I needed someone and even when I thought I didn't... Lily Potter! Halloween! That's why he needs twenty-four hours of air!"

She turned and hurried toward the door.

"Where are you going?" called Draco, though he thought he knew the answer.

Over her shoulder, she answered, "To open a window!"

* * *

 **PS:**

Hermione's family really did go to France in the summer of 1993 and she changed her History of Magic essay because of it, as referenced in this chapter. She writes as much to Harry in Prisoner of Azkaban. No mention of Disney, though! Euro Disney (as it was previously called) opened in 1992 and is my favorite Disney.

 **-AL**


	24. Reconstruction

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:**

 **RECONSTRUCTION**

"Mum?"

It was late. The twins were asleep, her father was watching the news downstairs, and her mother was in the bedroom, ironing.

"Come in, Hermione, dear."

"Mum, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard... I overheard you and Dad arguing the other day. About me. And the twins. About magic. And... and Australia. And I'm sorry."

"Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry. Whatever we said, it wasn't meant for your ears. Sit down."

Hermione approached the bed cautiously, afraid to accidentally dissolve her mother into a puddle of tears as she'd done earlier with the Missy/Minnie Mouse fiasco. She settled cross-legged on the end, facing her mother and the ironing board. Mrs. Granger was smoothing out the sleeves of one of Mr. Granger's crisp white work shirts, her hair in curlers, giving the impression she'd chosen 1950s Housewife as her Halloween costume.

"I will not deny that times have been tough, Hermione, but I don't want you to blame yourself."

"It's my fault, though, isn't it? If I hadn't erased your memories, if I hadn't gone back to–"

"Our problems did not start when you erased our memories. If anything, what you did gave us a good year we otherwise might not have had."

"What do you mean?"

Jean Granger removed the shirt from the board and hung it on a wire hanger, then reached into the wicker basket for the next item to be ironed: one of her own gray pencil skirts.

"You're an adult now, Hermione. I can be completely candid with you?"

"Please."

"Your father and I had been contemplating divorce for years. With you away at school, we were leading rather separate lives anyway, but we stayed together for you. You came home so infrequently; we didn't want you to have to split what little time you had with us in half. We worked to ensure you had a happy home to return to every summer, and holidays when you so chose, but when you were gone, we weren't happy. Not together."

Hermione blinked several times and shook her head, trying to process this.

"But... no! You always seemed happy. We did so much together, we went away, we saw plays together, we..."

"We still enjoy vacationing and plays, but it's been a long time since we stopped enjoying those things together. During that last year you were away, before you – what's it called? Aliviated us?"

"Obliviated."

"Yes, during the school year before that, your father wasn't even living here full-time. He had a small flat near his office. We were both seeing other people."

"That's impossible!" Hermione slammed her hand down on the bed. Her mother was momentarily taken aback. "You can't have been cheating on each other! You can't have been! You're my parents!"

"We weren't cheating on each other. We were living separate lives. We kept telling ourselves, only two more years, only eighteen more months, only one more year... We fully intended to make the split permanent once your education was over."

Hermione was horrified, sickened to learn this, as she'd never even slightly suspected there was anything off in their marriage.

"But you had two more babies! You got pregnant again knowing you'd been living separate lives?"

"No, we didn't." Jean bristled at this, perhaps pressing harder on the iron than necessary. She lifted it to be certain she'd hadn't just burned her best skirt. "When we conceived the twins, we were Monica and Wendell Wilkins. We did not remember living separate lives. We did not remember seeing other people. All we knew was that we'd been married twenty years and had no children. We assumed this meant we were unable to have children. My pregnancy was a surprise." For the first time in the conversation, Jean sounded bitter. "Now we're trying to make the best of it, to give your brother and sister the same happy childhood we tried to give you. We're living with both the memory of what things were like before you Obliviated us and what things were like during our year as the Wilkins. We were genuinely happy as Wendell and Monica and after a considerable amount of debate and discussion, we decided that meant there was still hope for us as a couple. Neither of us is seeing anyone else _now_ , but it's not easy to put the past behind us."

"Then it _is_ my fault! Had I left you alone, you could have divorced and lived happily ever after far away from each other, but now you have two more children to worry about..."

"Had you left us alone, we could have died, right? That's why you erased our memories, gave us new identities, and sent us away? You were protecting us?" Jean hung up the skirt and reached back into the basket, pulling out Hermione's dark blue witch's robe, which she planned to wear to work the next day.

"I thought I was. I thought I was doing the right thing." Tears stung at her eyes, her nose twitched, and her cheeks felt hot, but she refused to cry. She'd cried far too much as of late, and she was through with it. "I can never tell you how sorry I am, Mum. I can't..."

"Hermione, I love you." Jean set the iron down and moved to sit beside her daughter on the queen sized bed. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "And I love Orlando and Ophelia. I always wanted more children. It was one of the things your father and I often fought over. He thought one was enough. He said you were perfect and there was no way to achieve perfection again, so we should quit while ahead, whereas I thought you were perfect and wanted four more just like you."

"You wanted five children?"

"I always wanted a large family because I grew up lonely. I didn't want the same to happen to you." Jean Granger was an only child, daughter of a military man who moved his family around a lot and a social butterfly mother who was rarely home. "Your father had the opposite upbringing." Jonathon Granger was the middle of nine children, three biological, six adopted, and he'd always hated sharing a bedroom with five other boys. His father was a dentist too and his mother a kindergarten teacher, and even when they were home, they hardly had time to give any one child individual attention.

"The boy I'm... seeing... he's an only child, but his parents wanted more. He grew up longing for a sibling, but honestly, Mum? Maybe I'm selfish, but I liked being an only child."

Jean laughed. "Your father and I made sure to give you all of the attention we lacked in our own childhoods. I'm just glad you didn't grow up to be a spoiled brat. What about your beau? Is he...?"

"A spoiled brat?" Hermione couldn't help a grin from forming across her face. "Yes, I think so. But I like him anyway."

"Could we meet him someday? It must be serious, if you've been living together." Jean kissed Hermione's forehead and rose to finish the ironing. Hermione knew her mother did not approve of the living arrangement with Draco, but was grateful she didn't make her displeasure known again.

"I'd like that, should we stay together. He's... different. His father – his family – were on the opposite side of the war from Harry, Ron, and I. They defected eventually, but his father was executed last December, convicted of war crimes. His aunt was the one who... you know." She drew up her sleeve to show her mother the M still remaining in her arm. "But his mother was the one who removed the rest of it. She's reformed, or trying to be, and I think he is, too. Or he's trying to be, at least."

"Does he treat you well? With kindness and respect? Does he appreciate your intellect? Or does he belittle you for your scholarly nature like the ginger used to?"

"He's not like Ron."

"I was not wild about Ron."

"I know."

He'd come over to get to know her parents once after the war ended, when they were briefly making a go of it. Her mother hadn't liked the way he jokingly asked if she'd always had her nose stuck in a book as a child or his admission that he often copied off her homework or studied from her notes. Her father hadn't been crazy about him either, and reminded her of a letter she'd written home first year about how mean he was to her. They demanded to know why she was attracted to a lazy student and a bully, and she'd insisted that they were reading Ron all wrong. This had led to their first of many fights before she'd moved out in January to room with Neville.

"Draco has his faults, I won't pretend he doesn't, and one of the biggest is that I don't think he's past his old prejudices, but he has many good qualities too, the best probably being that he genuinely seems to _want_ to be past those old prejudices."

"Does he love you?"

"I think so."

"Do you love him?"

"It doesn't make sense, Mum. Less than two years ago, we were enemies. But he had the chance to turn us over to his master, the dark wizard I've told you about, in order to save himself and restore his family to the dark wizard's good graces, and he chose not to do so, and that was before we got to know each other, before he was trying to be reformed. He was a bully in school – I once punched him in the mouth for it – but he wanted to best Harry in Quidditch and look down on Muggleborns like me, not to see Harry dead and the rest of us being tortured. He was a prat, not a monster."

"And now, Hermione?"

"And now... Mum?"

"Yes?" Jean handed the ironed blue robe to Hermione, but her daughter's expression stopped her from reaching back into the basket for another wrinkled item. "What is it, dear?"

"He's the only boy I've ever... you know." She wriggled her eyebrows. _"You know."_

"I know."

"That must mean something, right? I mean, I was with him because I thought I loved him. And I still want to be with him, so I must... love him?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you?"

Jean chuckled and returned to the bed, again enveloping her oldest daughter in her arms. "It means something if you think it means something. What do you think it means?"

"I think it means I love him, despite his faults."

"Then that's what it means. Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Don't worry so much about your father and me. You're an adult now. You have your own relationship to manage, your own life to figure out and lead. No matter what happens, the rest of us will be fine. And we love you."

"I love you too, Mum."

Back in Wiltshire, Draco was about to crawl into bed when an unfamiliar owl wrapped at his window. He opened it to let him in and took the rolled parchment from his leg. After a thank you and a small treat, the owl hooted softly and flew off again, leaving Draco alone with the letter. It was dated the previous day.

 _Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

 _I must say, I was surprised to receive your letter this morning. Yes, we do have one opening in my former department, the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, for someone interested in and capable of investigating possibly charmed objects that have made their way into the hands of Muggles, including disappearing keys and exploding toilets – it is not a glamorous position, and it involves regular interactions with Muggles, who must be kept calm during questioning and ultimately Obliviated once their problems have been solved. Following this, reports must be made to the Department Head (currently Flora Florence, though she is considering retirement within the next year) and an investigation is launched in an attempt to discern where the object has come from and by whom it was created (and for what purpose) thus we work closely with other departments within the field of Magical Law Enforcement._

 _We are especially focused on upholding the Muggle Protection Act of 1992, which you may remember hearing about, as your father was one of those most staunchly against it. While I would consider your application based on your professional qualifications and intentions alone, I must remind you that it was to defer or prevent the passing of this act that your father passed along the diary of You-Know-Who to my young daughter that year. This may make for a conflict of interest and will have to be disclosed to Madam Florence prior to your interview, should she grant you an interview._

 _That said, I was particularly impressed by – and, frankly, moved by – the content of your letter, and would like to hear what you have to say. Please come to my office on Tuesday, 2 November, at nine-thirty in the morning for an in-person meeting, and if all goes well, I will forward your name and CV to Madam Florence, and will go so far as to put in a personal word for you, should I be convinced your interest in the position is genuine._

 _Lastly, you should be aware that the salary for this position is not high, and if it is prestige you're seeking, you'd do better to seek employment elsewhere._

 _Thank you for reaching out._

 _(Hermione speaks very highly of you.)_

 _Cordially,_

 _Arthur Weasley_

 _Department Head, Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects_

Draco sighed, re-rolled the letter, and crawled into bed. He'd never applied for a job before, never imagined he ever would, and he did not yet have a CV to present, but he had until Tuesday morning to prepare, and if all went well, he would hopefully find himself employed by the Ministry of Magic by this time next week. What better way to show Hermione he was willing to change than by getting a position that would require interacting with and assisting Muggles on a daily basis? And what's more, doing so might actually open his mind and his eyes and help him stop wanting to shudder every time he thought about actually having to deal with them.

He tucked the letter between the two books on his beside table, then decided to read from the one on the bottom, with which he was almost finished.

"'Stages of Grief,'" he read aloud, flipping to the chapter he'd left off on (Chapter Seventeen: The Turning Point). He glanced at the other book. "I'll get back to you tomorrow, 'Overcoming Your Prejudices.'

Damn.

Applying for a job?

Willingly interacting with Muggles?

Reading non-fiction informational texts in bed at night?

Hermione certainly seemed to be rubbing off on him.

"Mroww?" Crookshanks hopped up on the bed, having been asleep under it for the past several hours. He circled Draco's lap several times, kneading with his claws, before plopping down, expecting ear scratches. "Mroww."

"I know," said Draco, using his wand to keep the book hovering where he could see the pages so his hands were free to scratch the cat. "I miss her too."

Far from Malfoy Manor, at the last home on Spinner's End, Narcissa was pounding on the door, demanding entrance. Finally, after she threatened to break it down, Severus opened it.

He wasn't happy to see her.

To put it mildly.

"I bloody told you to stay away!" he growled, attempting to close the door. She stuck her hand in the air between it and the frame, confident he wouldn't slam it on her fingers. He turned and stalked off through the paneled door into the sitting room, mumbling furiously under his breath. She quietly closed the door and followed at a slight delay.

He retrieved the firewhisky bottle he'd discarded on the couch and took a swig before turning to face her. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his gait was unsteady, but his words came out crystal clear, not at all slurred or jumbled as hers would be under the influence of alcohol.

"I needed to see you."

"And I needed to be alone. I told you as much. I have been drinking all day, Narcissa. You need to go home."

"You're drinking because of her. Because you still lo... still _miss_ her." While she didn't love him, not like she did Lucius, and she didn't expect him to love her, it hurt to think of him loving another. "You're drinking because this is the day she died."

"You need to leave. If not for me, than for yourself."

"All these months, all this year, you've been there for me, Severus. How can you not allow me to do the same for you? When I was drunk you cared for me, when I was at my most miserable–"

He cut her off. "You, Narcissa, are sweet, if not somewhat pitiable, when drunk. You are emotional and need someone to care for you."

"Yes. And you've cared for me."

"I rarely drink too much." He took another long sip from the firewhisky bottle. She wondered how much he'd had and whether he'd been at it since morning. "Once per year, I get fucking pissed. The other 364 days, I must exercise incredible control. On Halloween, if I can help it, I try to get by without having to exercise _any_ control. I drink until I forget, for one night only. I rage and cry and let myself remember, and then tomorrow–"

"Rage! Cry! I won't stop you. But let me be here, Severus." She moved closer to him, wanting to wrap her arms around him, wanting to kiss his cheek and make him feel better. "Let me stay... in case you _need_ me. You shouldn't have to be alone."

"I am better off alone!"

"No, you're not! No one is! Don't be a bloody martyr, Severus! Let someone care for _you_ for a change."

"I am my father's son, Narcissa," he spat, before downing the last gulp of firewhisky. "I am not an amiable drunk. I am mean, nasty, vicious." He threw the bottle at the fireplace, where it shattered against the brick above the flames. "I cannot be trusted. I am dangerous."

"Let me be of comfort to you!" She reached toward him, but the furious look in his eye made her withdraw. Still, she pressed on. "You don't have to suffer alone! You–"

"Don't you understand what I'm saying, witch?" He grabbed her roughly by the upper arm, jerking her toward him. "I might _hurt_ you! If I've consumed enough, if you interrupt me or anger me or get in my way, I'm liable to raise my hand and..." Still gripping her arm hard enough to leave a bruise, he raised his opposite hand, the way his father used to when threatening his mother, as if prepared to hit her across the face with the back of his fist. Unlike Eileen Prince Snape, Narcissa did not try to pull away. She did not flinch. She did not close her eyes or beg him not to or even put up her arms to protect herself. She simply stared at him without blinking – her blue eyes, bluer than the Mediterranean, meeting his brown ones, so dark they were nearly black – and slowly, she shook her head.

"I don't believe you could hit me, Severus," she said softly. "You are your father's son, but you are _not_ your father."

He relaxed his fist, letting it drop to his side, and hung his head shamefully. The hand on her bicep relaxed but did not release. She took her hands and cupped his face, not allowing him to hide behind his hair.

"Look at me, Severus," she whispered. "You can spend all of Halloween drunk and angry and in a state of complete despair, and that's alright. All I'm asking is to be here so you don't have to suffer through it alone."

They locked eyes for what may have been a minute and may have been an hour, black-brown eyes meeting shimmery blue ones, and in hers he saw what he'd never seen when his mother looked upon his father:

Trust.

She trusted him.

She was seeing him at his weakest, his worst, and he'd just done what he'd always sworn he'd never do – threaten a woman – and yet, there it was... trust.

She knew he wouldn't hurt her. And she wanted to help.

She was seeing him at his worst, and _still_ she saw the good in him.

(Lily had never looked at him like that.)

"Severus?"

He could not answer with words.

His lips crushed down on hers.

It was a rough kiss, sloppy, and his tongue burned against hers thanks to the hot cinnamon liquor, but she didn't mind, she didn't mind any of it. She didn't mind when he shoved his body against hers and they stumbled, as they had outside by the tree, but this time her back connected with the bookshelves along the walls, knocking several to the floor.

"I love you," he growled between kisses. "I love you. I love you."

"You don't," she whispered, but she pressed back every time his lips met hers. "You don't, Severus. You don't. You love her. You've always loved her."

"I love you," he insisted. "Only you."

"It's..." Her mind flashed back to the conversation with Draco just an hour or so before. "It's transference, Severus. You're upset, you're emotional, you're pissed off the whisky. You're transferring what you feel for her..."

"If I wasn't afraid to hurt you I would take you to bed."

"Take me to bed, Severus. Hurt me. Use me. I want to feel your pain. Let me alleviate your pain."

His lips moved to her cheek, her neck... "I can't hurt you. I won't. And I won't allow you to hurt for me. It is not your burden."

"You've shared my burden for over ten long months." Her fingers threaded into his tangled hair as she guided his lips from her clavicle back to her mouth, again to her cheek, her neck... "Let me lessen yours."

"I want to tell you about her." A kiss to the jaw. "I want to tell you what happened." A kiss to the throat. "I did not mean for her to die." A kiss to the temple. "I never... I never... had I thought the Dark Lord would think... would go for... would..." He pulled away, emitting a choked sound that alarmed her momentarily before it gave way to deep, wracking sobs.

"I know, love, I know." Now she was the one kissing his cheek, and his throat, and his temple, and anywhere else she could manage while he nuzzled closer to her, his arms secure around her waist, his head ducked, shielding his face behind a curtain of uncombed hair.

She held him up as long as she could, and when his weight against hers became too much to bear, they slipped down the book-lined wall to the floor, where she continued to cradle him as he cried. She guided his head to her lap, the way she'd done with her son only days before, and stroked his hair, and whispered over and over that it was not his fault, and in this moment she felt like so much more than a friend, or even a lover. She felt he was – at least in this moment – her kindred spirit... and her equal.

As much as she loved Lucius – and she did, despite her lingering fury about the cheating, she couldn't bring herself to love him any less – she had never seen them as equals. He'd always been a half-step above her, so that she was looking up at him, as the wife's place was to build up and support, to stand behind, not quite beside. That's what her mother had taught her, in any case, and she knew Lucius' parents had raised him in a home in which this was undoubtedly the case.

And so she'd never quite felt equal with any man before, not even those she secretly thought she was better than, as being male always seemed to elevate them undeservedly even in her own mind. But now, in this moment, she felt Severus and she were the same, experiencing the same feelings of pain and guilt and self-loathing and confusion and anger and utter despair. And because they were equals, she knew she could be of as much help to him as he'd been to her.

"I'm not going to let you send me away," she said softly. "I refuse to let you suffer alone. You can drink and scream and threaten to hurt me – though I know you won't hurt me – but I'm not going anywhere. And tomorrow, once you've sobered, I want you to tell me about her."

Severus' sobs slowed. He was running out of energy, while her touch was soothing and comforting, thus he found himself relaxing even though his body ached like he'd been trampled by centaurs. He was suddenly drowsy. Exhausted. The firewhisky was taking its toll. They stayed this way for several long minutes, the silence punctuated only by his occasional sniffles.

"It's my fault, Severus," Narcissa went on softly, continuing to stroke his hair. His eyes were closed. He'd now gone quiet. She wasn't certain he was still awake. "If I hadn't gotten Lucius into the Dark Lord's inner circle, if I hadn't encouraged him to recruit younger Slytherins like you, that never would have happened. You're blaming yourself doing what any boy your age would have done. You wanted to impress him. You wanted to be important. But you were young. Lucius and I..."

"You can try to shoulder some of my burden, Narcissa," he murmured, his hand firmly placed on her thigh, his voice croaking from having cried so hard. "But you cannot share the blame. That is for me to manage alone."

"You've managed alone for too long," she whispered. She ran her fingernails down the back of his neck under his shirt to the space between his shoulders and up again, over and over, until his breathing was slow and even. He was dozing off, succumbing to both the exhaustion and the alcohol.

"Let's get you up to bed," she suggested, guiding him up from her lap. "I've passed out drunk on the floor a number of times and do not recommend it to anyone over thirty."

He let her help him to his feet and lead the way from the sitting room, up the stairs, to the bedroom, where he collapsed onto the bed fully dressed. As he'd done for her on more than one occasion, she gently removed his shoes and enough of his clothing to render him more comfortable before tucking him under the blankets. Once he was settled she searched in his wardrobe for something comfortable to wear, settling on the soft black t-shirt she'd borrowed before, with her knickers under it, but no bra. She crawled under the covers beside him, and though he was already mostly out of it, he instinctively reached toward her, hugging her close.

"I wish you would." Her voice was dropped so low she almost couldn't hear herself.

"Would what?" he mumbled, eyes closed, his cheek nestled against her chest. She resumed scratching from his neck to his bare shoulder blades and back up as she'd done downstairs.

"Love me like that. As you do her. I think any woman would love to be loved that much."

"Lucius loved you that much," Severus murmured. The hand he'd rested on her abdomen slipped to the small of her back, putting his forearm flush against her hip and thigh. "He often told me to forget her, to find a woman like you instead. He said I'd be happier."

She smiled, though the words brought tears to her eyes.

"To the rest of our world, he was a villain, and I, an enabler."

"To the rest of our world, I'm a hero." Severus said this not with pride, but with bitterness. "To hell with the rest of our world."

The next morning, he awoke with a pounding headache, as he typically did on the first of November, but for the first time on this day, he did not awaken alone.

"There is a hangover potion in the vial by your bed," she said, crawling back into bed upon realizing he was no longer asleep. "I recommend it, along with the full glass of gillywater."

Groggily he forced himself to sit up, reached for the potion, and downed it in two gulps. "Thank you, Narcissa."

"Good morning, Severus." She kissed him quickly on the lips. "How did you sleep?"

"Rather well, considering." He positioned her over him, with her inner thighs against his outer thighs, facing each other. "It helped knowing you were beside me."

"I'm sorry if I upset you by showing up last night after you asked to be alone. I truly felt I could help you."

"I... I can't remember much of last night, to be honest. Was I awful?"

"No." She kissed him again. "You were lovely."

"Liar."

"You told me you wanted to talk about her, to tell me about her. Do you? I want to hear it."

"There isn't much more to tell. We were childhood friends. She was my first and only friend. She defended me against Potter. I felt embarrassed, emasculated. I called her a Mudblood. She..." He couldn't tell Narcissa exactly what Lily had said in response, as it was too humiliating. "She commented on my attire; we were poor. What little I owned was... We were poor. I was hurt, she was hurt. I tried to apologize but she wouldn't accept it in part because I was unwilling to turn my back on my friends, Evan Rosier and Mikhail Mulciber and the others. We never spoke again, she married Potter, I got her killed, and that's all there is."

"But you loved her. Even after your fight, even though you never spoke again, you still loved her." Narcissa couldn't look at him. She nuzzled her face against the crook of his neck and was glad to feel his arms wrap around her a moment later. "She might have loved you if..."

"No. She never loved me," he interjected miserably. "I gave all of my love to a woman who didn't want it. She wanted Potter."

Her response was muffled as she had her lips against his skin. "She was stupid to want Potter."

"No, she was right. I was nothing." His hands slipped under the t-shirt and ran up her back, keeping her close. "I was no one, I was never going to be anyone. I was poor, socially inept, unpopular, with an uncertain future and an attraction to the Dark Arts. I couldn't be for her what he was – he was everything I wasn't, everything she wanted. I'd never have been good enough for her. Not that she would've looked down upon me. She wasn't capable of such cruelty. But even if she had tried to love me the way I did her, we never would have been happy. She would have grown to resent me for not being what she needed. Or I would've grown to hate myself for my inability to be the man she deserved."

Narcissa kissed his neck and sat back on his thighs to face him. His hands dropped to her hips. "Severus Snape, how many times must I tell you you're selling yourself short?"

"I almost hit you last night. That I remember. I raised my fist and threatened to hit you. I am not a good man. I am not James Potter and I am not Lucius. I almost hit you."

"But you didn't."

"I could have."

"But you didn't."

"What if I had?"

"But you _didn't_." She took his face in her hands, cupping his cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact with her. "Severus, I am not going to hold against you what you didn't do, especially considering the state you were in. I don't know if you remember me telling you this last night, but being your father's son means fuck-all to me. What's important is that you are _not_ your father. Do you remember me telling you that?"

"I remember you holding me on the floor, and I remember waking up at some point in the middle of the night with my arms around you. That's all."

"That's all?" She tried not to look disappointed. "You don't remember what I said to you... or anything you might have said to me?"

"Like what?"

"Oh... nothing. It wasn't anything you meant, in any case."

He nodded, but the truth was, he remembered more than he let on. He remembered kissing her. He remembered telling her he loved her.

But he also remembered her insistence that he didn't, that he loved Lily.

He remembered that she didn't say it back.

Best then, he figured, to pretend it had never been said.

"Lucius hit me once."

"What?" He would have jumped up had she not been in his lap. "He hit you?!"

"Not on purpose. He was ranting and raving about some silly law Athur Weasley was trying to pass. This must have been... 1991, maybe? 1992? Draco was to be leaving for school soon. He was pacing furiously around our bedroom and I was following him, and he was gesticulating wildly, and when he turned he brought his hand across like this..." She pantomimed her right hand flying out from her left shoulder across to the right side. "And I happened to catch the back of his hand with my face. Gave me a bloody nose. He felt terrible. He wanted me to hit him back, in retaliation." She sneered. "Had I known then he'd had an affair with that awful women, I'd have taken him up on the offer."

Severus smiled. "You're a fascinating woman, Narcissa Malfoy."

"I know." She smiled too. "That's why you fancy me. Now what? That hangover potion should've kicked in. Shall we get up and get breakfast... or spend another hour or two in this bed?"

"An hour or two?" Severus cocked an eyebrow. "You overestimate my stamina, witch."

"Don't feel intimidated by my high standards, Potions Master." She pressed her lips to his. "I firmly believe you're up to the task."

He laughed, removed the t-shirt she'd borrowed from him, and pulled her flush against his chest, needing to feel her skin against his.

He didn't tell her he loved her, but he felt it, and through their coupling he tried to show it.

And she didn't tell him she loved him, but she felt it, and though she'd indicated otherwise the night before, she desperately wanted to hear it.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thanks for reading! Quite a bit of backstory here, and more than a little angst, not to mention Severus' wrestling with his inner demons in a way we've not seen thus far, but I hope you enjoyed. In case anyone is worried, rest assured, he would NOT have hit her. If you liked what you read, please review! I love to know! And if you hate what you read, please PM me, bc my ego is fragile at the moment... my latest middle grade novel just went out on submission (wish me luck) so I'm anxiety-riddled. Eek!

Thx again!

 **-AL :)**


	25. Acceptance

**A/N:**

Despite the title of this chapter, we have not reached the end. There are 8 more to go (I'm up to 32 now because I split one chapter in half plus added 'Fear,' which wasn't originally planned). The next chapter is most ominously entitled, "Relapse" and is more Draco-heavy than this one is.

Thanks for reading!

 **-AL**

* * *

 **STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:**

 **ACCEPTANCE**

Hermione did not move back into Malfoy Manor exactly two weeks after she suggested taking a break, much to Draco's disappointment, but she did ask to have lunch on Wednesday, 17 days after she left.

 _My lunch break is from noon to twelve-thirty,_ he wrote back. _Could we meet near the Ministry?_

Lunch break? She was confused but not unpleasantly so. Had he gotten a job? No, surely he would have told her! But she wrote back that noon was fine and she picked a restaurant within a five minute walk from the Ministry, one connected to Floo Network for those who didn't wish to travel the Muggle way.

She arrived a few minutes before noon, secured a table, and pulled out a book while waiting, unwilling to waste time. He hurried in at a couple of minutes past two.

"Hermione, hello!"

She stood and he kissed her cheek. She slipped her book back into her bag as they settled across from each other at the small round table.

"Draco, hi."

Both were thinking that the other looked particularly nice today. He was wearing obviously new wizard's robes, dark green with light gray accents, open over a crisp white shirt and dark gray trousers. She wore a pale pink blouse with a black pencil skirt borrowed from her mother, no robes. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail while hers was gathered into a French braid.

"I've been reading too." From a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, he pulled a thick tome. "It's a Muggle book about overcoming personal prejudices, but I'm not convinced the lessons transfer. Did you know some Muggles discriminate against each other based on skin color? Strange creatures, Muggles. Er... no offense."

She smiled, the nervous bundle in her stomach untangling. "None taken. I don't understand why some Muggles are bigoted against people of other ethnicities or colors either. But it's not so different from looking down your nose on non-magic folk, is it?"

"I suppose not." He shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Crookshanks misses you. He thinks I move too much in my sleep."

"He probably also thinks you steal the blankets."

"I don't do that."

"You absolutely do. So tell me, what's this about a lunch break?"

Draco shrugged as if to say 'it's no big deal,' but secretly he was dying to see her reaction to his new position. "I got a job, thanks to Arthur Weasley. I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office under Flora Florence."

"What?" Hermione's eyes glistened, her jaw dropped, and she very nearly threw herself across the table to kiss him. "How did this happen? When?"

"I had a long discussion with Weasley last Tuesday, was interviewed by Florence on Thursday, and started work on Monday. The pay's rubbish and there's no prestige, but it's honest work. That's not me being judgmental. That's verbatim what they said when they hired me."

"What prompted you to do this?"

"You and my mother. But mostly you." He glanced around and leaned across the table, unwilling to be the victim of eavesdropping lest their conversation end up in the paper. "I love you, Hermione. I listened to you. I... I may not be a good person yet, not by your standards anyway, but I don't want to be what I was. I don't want to be what the Prophet thinks I am, or what Ginny Weasley thinks I am. I want you to be what you want me to be."

"Oh, Draco!" She reached across the table to grasp his hand. "You _are_ a good person and I want you to be yourself. I love _you._ And I love that you're on a path to personal betterment. I am too, actually. That's why I wasn't ready to return to Malfoy Manor on Sunday. It's not you, it's me. And that's not a line, it's the truth. After the war, I joined the Ministry Mentorship Program as soon as it was developed, and I put all of my focus in helping others adjust and heal and find themselves, but I completely neglected to do the same for me. I wonder if I made a mistake, if I shouldn't have gone back to Hogwarts for my last year... then with getting arrested..." She shook her head. "I believe in W.W.A.M.M., don't misunderstand, but..."

"I don't know who I am either," Draco said quietly, still taking care not to be overheard. "All I know is, I don't want to be who I was."

"I can't be who I was. But... maybe we can find ourselves together?"

"I'd like that."

Dining in the upstairs room of the same restaurant were Andromeda and Narcissa, neither of whom knew that Draco and Hermione were seated almost directly below them. They, too, were careful to avoid letting anyone listen in on them, but they did so with the help of Severus' Muffliato spell.

"I wish you'd tell me the identity of this 'mystery man,' said Andromeda, who was also on her lunch break, though she had an hour before she had to return to St. Mungo's.

"I will eventually," said Narcissa. She took a sip of the elf-made red wine both sisters had ordered, though both knew this selection was potentially threatening to their overall sobriety. "Have you ever prayed, Andromeda?"

"I don't understand the question." Andromeda cut into her lamb chop, perfectly cooked to medium rare, and smiled approvingly. She rarely allowed herself such a decadent lunch, but since her sister had offered to pay... "Have I ever preyed upon what? A smaller creature? Do I look like a predator to you?"

"No, not that sort of 'prey' – though for the record, yes, you do have a predatory quality about you - but I meant the sort of praying people with religions do. Where they look to the heavens and ask the gods for good fortune or guidance or... or whatever it is they ask for."

"Ah." Andromeda speared a small hunk of lamb with her fork. "No, can't say I've ever prayed like that."

"I did. Last night. It was my first time. I... I read about it in a book Draco left in the library. A Muggle book. 'Stages of Grief,' it's called. The book said after a loss, some people turn to prayer."

"For what?"

"I don't know!" Narcissa exhaled dramatically. "I was reading Chapter Four: Guilt, and it said some people overcome these negative emotions by writing in journals or speaking to therapists, while others pray. I don't have a journal and I'm not bloody mental so I thought perhaps praying..."

"I've seen a therapist," Andromeda said coolly. "And I'm not 'mental,' thank you. Personally, I think speaking to an invisible being in the sky sounds crazier than speaking to a person trained in a particular field..."

"Let's not fight!" Narcissa turned her attention to her own lamb chop, but she wasn't terribly hungry. "I was curious, that's all. Since you were married to a Muggle, and it was a Muggle book, I thought..."

"Ted was an atheist." Andromeda stared stonily at her younger sister. "It was a bone of contention between him and his parents. They were Catholic. They had a difficult time coming to terms with having a wizard for a son, but they did their best to support him, until he told them he was also an atheist. Then they disowned him."

Narcissa stared back at her blank-faced. "He was a what?"

"It means he did not believe in a god or gods, not modern ones, not ancient ones, not magical or Muggle ones."

"And this was a problem?"

"His parents were Catholic. They believed in one God and blamed Hogwarts for turning him into a heathen. He tried to explain to them that being a wizard and being an atheist were not mutually inclusive – that is to say, there were a number of Christian or Jewish or Hindu students at Hogwarts and magical people exist within all faiths – but they cast him out anyway. The wand-waving they could handle. The insistence that no such being exists they could not. They..." She shifted uncomfortably, as this was not one of her fonder memories. "They greatly blamed me, as a matter of fact. They did not want him to marry me any more than Mother and Father wanted me married to him and they were furious to learn I was expecting. If not for the obvious differences between them, his parents and ours might have gotten on remarkably well, but while I was largely unbothered by being disowned by the Blacks, being forced out of the Tonks family crushed him."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Meda."

"Don't be. It was over twenty-five years ago and he's dead now anyway, right?" Andromeda said this with a harshness that reminded Narcissa of Bellatrix, and though she missed their eldest sister, this sudden resemblance made her uneasy. Andromeda closed her eyes and took a long sip of wine as if to calm herself, and when she opened her eyes again the warmth had returned. "What is it you prayed for, Cissy? Guidance or good fortune?"

"Neither, not exactly. I... I prayed because I want to know how Lucius would feel about me and Se... my friend."

"If he were alive, I reckon he wouldn't approve."

Narcissa smiled. "That's precisely what my friend said! But you know what I mean."

"You feel guilty about moving on. I understand, Narcissa. Of course I understand." She speared another bite of lamb, but did not move the fork toward her mouth. "Last Friday night, I had dinner with that man I told you about. The one raising his grandson. We went out without the kids. After dinner, he... he kissed me."

"Oh!" Narcissa leaned in conspiratorially. "How was it?"

"Good enough that I jumped into bed with him half an hour later."

"What?!" Narcissa dropped her fork but caught it before it hit the floor. "You slept with him?"

"There was no sleeping."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You shagged him, then?"

"No, but stopped just short of it." Her eyes sparkled and Narcissa could tell she was enjoying this attention. They truly were alike in many ways – all three sisters were. Andromeda expanded: "He left satisfied, for what it's worth, and he wants to see me again. I felt elated at the time, but once he was gone and I came down from my high, I felt sick. I vomited up a very expensive dinner that he paid for, then scrubbed myself in the shower until I thought my skin would wear away. I felt more remorse over having nearly been with him than I felt the first time I was unfaithful to my husband, as if cheating on Ted's memory could be worse than cheating on Ted himself. I know it doesn't make a damn bit of sense."

"It makes perfect sense to me. It's been over two weeks since we became intimate and several months since I realized there was more than friendship between us, but I still shift between wanting to tell Severus I love him and asking to live together and wanting to tell Severus I've made a terrible mistake and asking him not to visit me again."

"Severus?" It was Andromeda's turn to drop her fork, but it landed on her plate with a clang. "Severus Snape? Your mystery lover is Severus Snape?!"

"I... oh." Narcissa's cheeks blushed deep crimson. She thought about lying, about pretending there was another wizard in their world named Severus, but she knew her sister would see right through it.

"Narcissa?"

"Yes, Severus Snape is my mystery lover," she confessed, adding defensively, "What of it? There's nothing wrong with him!"

"Did I indicate I thought there was something wrong with him? On the contrary, I think he's a fine man. Nymphadora always spoke highly of him, despite his history with her husband. She never doubted which side he was truly on. I wish she could have lived to see the proof he wasn't a traitor to us and to Dumbledore." Andromeda shrugged. "But then, I wish she could have lived to see a lot of things. I imagine she'd be furious with me for dating so soon after her father's passing."

"As is Draco," admitted Narcissa. She poked her rice with the prongs of her fork but had hardly eaten any of her meal, whereas Andromeda's was half-gone. She had, however, consumed nearly all of her wine, while Meda was careful to drink more slowly. "He threw Severus out of the Manor a week before Halloween. They haven't spoken since. I think he's disappointed in me."

"Severus?"

"Draco. He sees his father and me as these near-perfect people – that's one thing that's caused chaos in his relationship with the Granger girl – and we're simply not. I love Lucius as much now as I did a year ago, five years ago, fifteen years ago, and nearly thirty years ago, but I cannot sit in front of my son and pretend his father was perfect. They executed the man for a reason."

It hurt Narcissa to utter these last words, but nearly a year of despondent soul-searching had finally resulted in some recent clarity, as she forced herself to confront the fact that her husband, while a loving man who treated her well, had committed crimes up to and including murder against those the Dark Lord considered their enemies, and most of their world considered his liberal use of Unforgivable Curses literally unforgivable.

"Does it bother you? That Draco doesn't approve?"

"Honestly? Yes. But Severus makes me happy and I'm desperate to be happy, Meda."

"Me too." Andromeda took a bite of her rice and did not comment when Narcissa stole a gulp of what was left of her wine. "His name is Barnaby. My friend. His grandson is Grayson. Grayson and Teddy get along very well but I was afraid without them underfoot Barnaby and I would have nothing to talk about. I was wrong. We talked for hours. If he hadn't had to return home to relieve a sitter, we might have talked – or more – all night. But he's not Ted. He will never be Ted."

"And Severus will never be Lucius."

"Perhaps that's a good thing," said Andromeda thoughtfully. "We cannot seek replacements for them, because to us, they're irreplaceable – yes?"

"Yes."

"But we shouldn't have to deny ourselves happiness forever – right?"

"Right."

Andromeda sighed. "Then why do I feel like a slag?"

"For the same reasons I do." Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose. "I didn't know dating as a widow would be quite this complicated!"

Downstairs, Hermione and Draco were also discussing what could never be.

"I'll never be my father," Draco was saying. "And that used to bother me. As a kid, I wanted to be him. I wanted to make him proud, and to have his reputation and influence, and to look and act exactly like him. My mother used to call me 'Lucius in miniature' and she said it with such pride... but Ginny... she might not be completely incorrect." His expression clouded. He hated admitting this even to himself. "My father had faults, the greatest of which was ambition, and that led him to doing unforgivable things, and I reckon I'll just have to accept that no one but Mother and I – and maybe Severus – ever knew him for who he was, or would care to remember him fondly."

"It's difficult to accept that our parents aren't the people we thought they were." Hermione kissed his palm before releasing his hand, sitting back to let the waiter place their entrees in front of them. She'd gotten the roast duck and him, the same lamb chop special as his mother and aunt. "Mine are on the brink of divorce and have been for years, it turns out."

"What?! You said your parents were one of the happiest couples you've ever known. What happened?"

She launched into the story, not only the whispered arguments she'd overheard and the conversation between herself and her mother, but the information she'd gotten from her father the following day, when he confirmed that he'd had his own place but had been evicted while they were in Australia (his belongings were placed in storage for six months, then sold).

"Bloody hell," said Draco when she finished. "What now?"

Far from the Ministry and St. Mungo's, Severus Snape was deep in his own lunch date, with Minerva McGonagall in her office at Hogwarts.

"You seem happier, Severus. Doesn't he, Albus?"

The former and current Heads of Hogwarts had their plates on her desk and were chatting amiably with the portrait of Dumbledore, who was content to be involved in conversation that wasn't about the war or the running of the school. "He's more relaxed, don't you agree? What is it? What could be the cause of this change? Could it as simple as being away from the classroom? No longer having to play a role? The post-war settling into civilian life? Or...?"

"Or?" Characteristically, he lifted one eyebrow. She smiled. Dumbledore smiled. Their smiles deepened his frown. Testily, he pushed, _"Or what?"_

"Show him the Prophet, Minerva," prompted portrait Dumbledore. She reached into her desk obligingly and handed Severus the morning's edition.

"You were spotted together again, this time holding hands."

Severus went Gryffindor maroon with both anger and embarrassment. A reporter had indeed captured a moving image of him with Narcissa, holding hands, walking out of a Muggle restaurant in the village nearest to Malfoy Manor, where they'd met for dinner two nights before. His spy skills had apparently fallen by the wayside since the war ended; he'd had no idea they were being observed.

"You were quite the gentleman," said Dumbledore, and Severus could've sworn his painted blue eyes were sparkling mischievously. "The article says you pulled out her chair, placed her napkin in her lap, poured her wine, sampled her pudding..."

"It was a non-alcoholic substitute for wine," snapped Severus, knowing this was inconsequential information but at a loss for anything else to say.

"Holding hands," said Minerva teasingly, shaking her head. "Severus Snape is not only in love, he's an unapologetically _public_ romantic."

"I am no such thing!" He slammed the paper down on the desk, though he couldn't help being ever-so-slightly comforted by the fact that Narcissa was looking at him in the picture in a way he'd never imagined any woman ever would. Damn it, he loved her. He wondered whether that was as obvious to the reporter as it clearly was to the current and former Hogwarts Headmistress and Headmaster.

"Any intentions of marrying her?" asked Dumbledore all-too-casually.

Severus scowled.

"Lucius hasn't even been gone a year, Albus. She's still in mourning. A marriage proposal would hardly be appropriate at this venture."

"Does she know that you're in love with her?" asked Dumbledore, unbothered by Severus' clipped tone.

"What makes you think I am?"

" _Please_ , Severus." Minerva tucked into her shepherd's pie, which was starting to go cold. "A blind Blast-Ended Skrewt could see that you're in love with her. Don't you think Albus and I know you well enough to see it too?"

"No."

"Accept it!" said Dumbledore cheerily from his portrait. "You are undoubtedly in love, and this time with a woman who appears to feel the same. This is good. There's always room for a little more love in the world!"

"Why do I put myself through the pain of joining the two of you for lunch?" He dug into his own meal, eager to end this line of questioning, but at the same time he couldn't fight the warming sensation in his chest, which had started when they suggested she felt the same. It was far too soon to be thinking of marriage... he wasn't even close to ready to (soberly) confessing to have fallen in love with her... but the prospect of a future together made him happier than he'd thought possible, even if he couldn't quite admit it out loud. Not yet.

"I think you're a romantic, Severus," said Minerva, a subtle smile on her thin lips.

"Narcissa said the same," he admitted gruffly, glaring down at his plate. "She was as wrong as you are."

"I disagree. Furthermore, I believe Tom Riddle's demise has been particularly good for you," said Dumbledore. "Do you know why?"

Severus snorted. "You think it's been good for me? Shocking, as it's been simply awful for most everyone else. Please, though, tell me why. I'd like to be enlightened."

Minerva rolled her eyes and helped herself to another bite but Dumbledore was beaming in his frame.

"I think it has been particularly good for you on a personal level because with his defeat and your near-death, you have been freed. You are no longer indebted to anyone, you have no master, and your life is your own. You did all you could for Draco at his mother's request and you did all you could for Harry in his mother's memory and both made it out of the Final Battle relatively unscathed, at least physically. Between wars and during this second one, you could not truly love another before not only because of the self-loathing consuming you, but because you were entirely fixated both on what you had done and what you hadn't been able to do, in regards to Lily Evans Potter. Now, the obsession is over, and you are able to move on, to live the life you've been denied all these many years."

"The obsession _is_ over, isn't it," mused Severus, softening slightly. "I love Lily, and I say I always will, but I no longer feel that she was the only woman I could ever..." Catching a glimpse of Minerva, who was leaning forward on her hand, engrossed in his words, he immediately cut off, cleared his throat, and sat up straighter. With a hard look at Dumbledore's portrait, he added defiantly, "My Patronus remains a doe."

"Is it?" asked Dumbledore. "When was the last time you cast a..."

"It _is_ ," insisted Severus, though truthfully, he couldn't remember the last time he'd uttered the words 'Expecto Patronum.'

"She was your friend," said Minerva. "There's nothing wrong with mourning your friend, but it's been eighteen years. Even the happiest of married couples don't typically produce widows or widowers who remain faithful to a memory for over eighteen years. Not that you were a widower, but I trust you understand what I–"

"It was different with Lily." He stabbed at his food but made no attempt to continue eating.

"Of course it was," said Minerva gently. "But she's gone now, and your debt has been repaid, and for the love of Merlin, you deserve your own happiness. Does Mrs. Malfoy love you, do you think?"

"Please do not call her 'Mrs. Malfoy.'"

"Excuse me, Narcissa. How does she feel about you?"

"I... She is nearly as capable at Occlumency as I am, thus she is difficult to read, though I've tried."

"Do not utilize Legilimency on her, Severus!" scolded Minerva.

"Then how shall I know how she feels?"

" _Talk_ to her! Ask her how she feels, tell her how you feel, have a conversation about the state of your relationship and where you'd like it to go! Talk to her about whether or not you're in love."

Severus' face screwed up in horror. "I'm not going to talk to her about _that_!"

Dumbledore chuckled in an almost fatherly way, but Minerva's lips formed a thin line, one her former Transfiguration students knew well. "You can share a bed with the woman, but an intimate conversation is too much to handle?"

"Who said we've shared a bed?!"

Between Dumbledore's muffled chuckles (hidden behind his painted hand) and Minerva's stern scolding expression, Severus felt like a teenager again, but one with the sort of parents Lily Evans, James Potter, and Remus Lupin were surely raised by: the sort of parents who cared, who lectured, and who got a kick out of watching their progeny suffer through the trials and tribulations of first love.

It was a feeling he both secretly liked and absolutely abhorred.

"Let's change the subject," he demanded. "Minerva, I heard Longbottom returned this fall to apprentice under Pomona. Has he destroyed any of the greenhouses yet?"

Meanwhile, at the restaurant, Narcissa and Andromeda were ordering dessert.

"You're a terrible influence, Cissy. I have a job, remember? If I'm late returning to work..."

"What's the worst they can do? The Cruciatus Curse is illegal again." She said this without a hint of humor, but Andromeda couldn't help laughing.

"Employees who make mistakes at work do not get Unforgivably Cursed, you out-of-touch animated porcelain doll! If they fuck up, they get fired! I can't afford to get fired."

"I'm sorry!" Narcissa wanted to return the insult but for an odd change, nothing came to mind. "I didn't... do you want to cancel the treacle tart?"

"No, of course I don't want to cancel it. I can't afford to eat this well usually, and I therefore intend to enjoy every bite for which you're willing to pay."

"I'm sorry you're poor," said Narcissa. "But it's your own damn fault. You should have had the foresight to marry money."

"Fuck off."

Narcissa flashed her a satisfied smile. They'd been getting too serious... and too nice. She couldn't handle it.

"So tell me, Andromeda Tonks, now that you've had an experience with a pureblood to compare to your past partners, is it true what they say about Muggleborns being... you know..." She tried to look sympathetic as she held her thumb and forefinger only a biscuit's width apart. _"Small?"_

"That's an old wives' tale, I'm afraid." Andromeda's face relaxed into a sly grin, thus Narcissa knew whatever was to come out of her mouth next would be biting. She was not disappointed. "But if you'd like my sisterly advice, take care to shower after foreplay with Snape – oily hair can cause acne and I'd hate to see you struggling to sit due to an unpleasant breakout along your inner thighs."

There was a tense six second silence before Narcissa cracked up.

"You're positively vile! That was considerably more vulgar than what I said! If Mother were here to hear the things that come out of your mouth, Andromeda! You are _not_ funny!"

"If I am _not_ funny, why are you laughing so hard you have tears in your eyes?"

"His hair is fine!" Narcissa dabbed the corner of her cloth napkin against her cheeks, to catch the escaped tears. "Merlin's beard! Inner thighs... Well, at least _that's_ something I've been getting on the regular. Jealous?"

"Should I be?"

"Yes. Yes, you should be."

"In that case, lucky you." Though Andromeda tried to maintain a cool façade, she couldn't hold back an amused snort. "In all seriousness, though... how is he? Really? Compared to your husband?"

"In all seriousness... not as refined and rarely rough enough, but he's enthusiastic and good with his hands and he takes direction well. Yours?"

"Difficult to say, but I wasn't complaining the other night. Give it a couple of weeks and I'll be able to better assess."

"I know you still hate me, but I'm happy to have you." Narcissa grasped Andromeda's hand under the table. "I've missed having a sister, all these years, and Bella... it wasn't the same after Azkaban. _She_ wasn't the same. I was... I was a little afraid of her sometimes. And she's not you, she was never like you. We were close once, remember? You and me?"

"Of course I remember, stupid." Andromeda placed her other hand over Narcissa's. "I only ever had one baby sister. And even though you were vapid and whiny and self-involved... I loved you, I suppose."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Just a bit."

"Just a bit?"

"The tiniest bit."

"I loved you too. A bit. I still do."

"As do I, I suppose."

"You do?" Narcissa's blue eyes shone, making her look very much like the baby sister she'd been forty years ago, begging Bella and Meda to watch her twirl or tumble, desperate for their approval. Andromeda nodded but withdrew her hands.

"Don't go getting emotional on me, now, you attention-needy Muppet. I don't care how many galleons this lunch sets you back, I absolutely _refuse_ to hug you when it's over."

Narcissa smiled.

Downstairs, Draco and Hermione were paying their bill. She insisted upon splitting it in half, even though his food had been more expensive, and even though he had more money.

"Please, let me be an independent woman," she said, and finally he acquiesced. They returned to the Ministry together.

"Tomorrow, after work, want to get dinner together?" he asked before they parted to head to their respective departments.

"I'd love to." She glanced around quickly to ensure no one was around to catch them, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you tomorrow."

That night, Hermione crawled into bed feeling better than she had since before the temporary boyfriend break. Better about everything, including her parents' situation, thanks to the lunchtime conversation. She was excited to go to dinner with him the following evening... and wondered whether she should warn her mother she might not make it home tomorrow night.

Draco, meanwhile, spent bedtime chatting with Crookshanks, as had become routine. The cat curled up beside him seeking scratches and pets and in exchange he 'meowed' frequently enough to let the wizard think he was engaged in the conversation. While Draco was not convinced the life of a working-class wizard was for him (long days, little pay, no prestige!) he was glad it had impressed Hermione... and he found he didn't actually hate the duties the job entailed. It didn't feel as meaningful as working for W.W.A.M.M. had, though. But there was no reason to worry on that now... tomorrow night, he'd be out with his favorite witch, with any luck winning her back.

"Maybe this time tomorrow, it'll be Hermione's head on that pillow instead of yours," he said to the cat.

"Mroww?"

"No offense."

In the bedroom down the hall, Narcissa was trying to concentrate on what Severus was doing, but her sister's 'advice' from the afternoon lunch popped into her head at a most inopportune moment, making her laugh. Severus stopped his ministrations and propped himself up to look at her.

"What? What's funny?"

"Nothing! Just... Andromeda... it's nothing. Keep going."

"I can't keep going if you're thinking about Andromeda. That's... disturbing."

"It would only be disturbing if _you_ were thinking about Andromeda," she countered.

"No, that would be inappropriate, but certainly not as disturbing. Am I... am I boring you?"

She could hear the vulnerability in his voice, though he had tried to ask the question without any inflection or emotion. She instantly felt guilty.

"No! I promise, I love what you're doing, and if I didn't, I would tell you. Something she said earlier came back to me and I... please, trust me, I like what you're doing. Keep doing it. And then, maybe I'll do something special for you. Any requests?"

He smirked and kissed her inner thigh. "A few."

"Go on, then." She guided him back into position. "And while you're – _Oh!_ – working, think about – _Mm, yes..._ – think about what you'd like in exchange."

Though he was typically the early riser and she the one to prefer a lie-in, she awoke before him the next morning. She sat up against the headboard to watch him sleep, almost unable to come to terms with the fact that this was her life.

One year before on this date, she'd been in bed alone, sick with the knowledge that the Ministry intended to execute her husband. She'd spent much of that time the way she spent her time after his death: drunk.

One year before that, she and Lucius were going through the worst time in their marriage, during which they rarely held each other or made love, as both were too consumed with fear and stress, anger and anxiety, knowing the Dark Lord was inhabiting the entire floor above them, fearing their son would be killed to punish them for their repeated failings.

The year before that, Lucius had been in prison.

The year before that, they'd known the Dark Lord had returned, thus there was tension in the air, but Bellatrix and the others had not yet been broken out, and it was easier to pretend away the reality.

During the four years prior, their marriage was relatively solid, despite the rough patch when Draco left for school and what she now knew to have been the period during which Lucius was cheating.

She kept going back and back and back in her mind, as Lucius grew younger and younger, until she was deep into the memory of the first time they'd slept together in this bed. It was November 1987, almost exactly twelve years ago. Abraxas Malfoy, patriarch, had recently passed away, thus Lucius' mother had decided to move into one of the smaller bedrooms, leaving the master bedroom to her son and his wife. Narcissa was thirty-two years old, mother of a six-year-old son, and eager to embrace her new status as Lady of the Manor, rather than the wife of the son of the Manor's Lord. She and Lucius had the entire bedroom and bath redone to fit their taste, though the ornate framework of the bed could not be altered in any way, having been in the room for over a century.

"Most Malfoy babies were probably conceived in this bed, Narcissa," Lucius had said that first night as they changed into their nightclothes. "Perhaps it shall bring us luck." He wanted another child, as did she. There was, according to an expert they'd seen, no obvious reason Narcissa couldn't conceive again. She simply... hadn't.

That night, Lucius was sweet and gentle and patient and giving, so much so it reminded her of the first night of their honeymoon, and though she typically enjoyed their sexual encounters a bit rougher, she was content. Nearly a year later, they did conceive again... only to lose the baby to a miscarriage, which also started right here in this bed.

When her husband was killed, she spent whole days in bed, whole twenty-four hour periods, crying and screaming and hurting herself, drinking and throwing things and wanting to cause unbearable pain to every single Wizengamot member who voted in favor of his execution. There were days she considered the possibility she would never again get out of this bed, never again smile or laugh or love or even glimpse the outside world.

She hadn't been a good mother during that period, she realized now. Thank Merlin for Draco's Mentorship program. The poor boy had lost his best friend and his father in a matter of months, and he'd probably wondered whether he'd end up losing his mother, too. No wonder being apart from Hermione Granger was so difficult for him now. For months, she'd been all he had.

But they'd pushed through. Severus had helped her push through. And things were getting better... though she couldn't help picturing her husband in bed with her sometimes, especially on those nights that she and Severus were not together. But he was gone. Lucius was gone, and never coming back, and she would never see him or speak with him or give herself to him again. And she had to accept that. This was her life now.

And it wasn't all bad.

She had her son, her sister, and Severus.

She wasn't sure prayer had helped her, but she genuinely felt if Lucius could see her now, he wouldn't hate her for falling for his friend. He'd understand, she thought, that she needed to not be alone. That she needed to accept his loss and let life go on.

"Your thinking woke me up," Severus mumbled. He rolled over, facing her but with his eyes closed, and rested his hand on top of her bare thigh under the covers. "You know, Minerva thinks we should have a talk about the way we feel for each other."

"Oh?" She wriggled back down under the blanket then snuggled up to him, comforted by his embrace. "How did you tell her you feel about me?"

"I didn't tell her, but she knows anyway."

"Knows what?"

"How in love with you I am."

A fluttering sensation filled Narcissa from gut to chest. "Are you, Severus? Are you in love with me? I ask because I'm in love with you, but I was afraid to say it, afraid you couldn't love me the way you love her, afraid you..."

"I love you in a way I've never loved anyone, not even her." Now his eyes were open. He pulled away from her just enough to make eye contact. "I've never been in love like this, Narcissa."

"Severus!" She brought her palm up to his cheek and kissed him after each sentence. "Severus, I love you." (kiss) "I'm in love with you." (kiss) "I love you." (kiss). "Make love with me." (kiss) "I love you."

"I love you, too."

As he positioned himself to oblige her request, it occurred to him Minerva McGonagall had been right. He didn't need Legilimency to know how Narcissa felt.

He simply had to talk to her.


	26. Relapse

**A/N:**

Long chapter, some short Lemony bits, and drama, but I tried for a little humor too, to lighten it up. Please let me know your thoughts, good, bad, or indifferent. The last chapter really seemed to drop off both in terms of number of views and reviews, so I'm worried it wasn't terribly popular with readers. Hoping this one makes up for it! Thanks!

 **-AL**

* * *

 **STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:**

 **RELAPSE**

When asked about the incident later, both Draco and Narcissa would state unequivocally that the fault was Andromeda's... but only because neither was quite willing to take the necessary personal responsibility.

"I am highly disappointed in all of you," lectured Hermione. With her arms folded and her lips pursed in a McGonagall-worthy thin line, she stared down the three people on the couch, all of whom looked guilty and uncomfortable. "I am officially implanting a new rule: no alcohol of any kind anywhere at Malfoy Manor – not inside the home, not on the grounds. Not for anyone, not for any reason... not even for guests who bring their own." This last part was directed toward Andromeda, who had the decency to look guilty in response. "And to be certain this rule is followed..." She snapped her fingers three times and for each snap a different house-elf appeared. She quickly informed them that no alcohol, not even cooking sherry, would be permitted going forward, and directed them to get rid of any they should find.

"This is the order of Master Malfoy." She shot a sharp look at Draco. "Isn't it?"

"Yes. This is... this is my order. Which you must obey." Though he hadn't moved into the Master Bedroom, as was customary of Malfoy sons after the deaths of their fathers, being the patriarch meant he technically outranked his mother, which Hermione knew... and Narcissa hated. "You will not provide alcohol even if my mother orders it from you, and if you find it in her possession, you will relieve her of it. Not even guests may indulge. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Malfoy," the tiny trio squeaked in unison. He gestured, giving them permission to go, then eyed his girlfriend critically. "I thought you were adverse to the owning and ordering about of house-elves, Hermione. What about SPEW?"

" _Spew_ is what I wanted to do when I heard about what the three of you had done. You are all mature adults who know better, and now _I_ have to do damage control. How do you think that makes me feel? Draco? Mrs. Malfoy? Mrs. Tonks?"

"Sorry," mumbled Draco.

"Sorry," echoed Narcissa and Andromeda, though the apology sounded less genuine coming from them.

"What will Severus say when he returns?" Hermione asked Narcissa, placing one hand to her hip, unintentionally mimicking her own mother. "Well?"

"He won't be happy."

"He won't be happy? That, Mrs. Malfoy, is an understatement, I'm sure. And you." Her gaze shifted to Andromeda, whose pouty expression increased her resemblance to Bellatrix. "I've sent for Harry because, honestly, I have no idea what to do with you! I hardly know you! What shall I tell him when he arrives?"

"You could tell him if he takes life as seriously as you do, he's liable to die from a stroke before he's thirty."

Narcissa sniggered behind her hand. This reminded her of her teenage years, when all Andromeda and Bella wanted to do was rebel. She'd have to sit on the couch between them, just as she was between Andromeda and Draco now, and listen to her parents' stern lectures and threats, as they wanted her to absorb whatever messages they were trying to impart to the others even though she hadn't misbehaved. Hermione's eyes snapped toward Narcissa.

"You find this funny, do you?"

"No!" Narcissa quickly put on her serious face, folding her hands in her lap. "Not at all, Mother Granger."

Now it was Andromeda hiding a snicker.

"Stop it! I realize, of course, that I have no power over either of you – quite the opposite, in your case, Mrs. Malfoy – but I am furious! This is no laughing matter! The Ministry is considering bringing you all up on charges!"

"For a little... prank?" Andromeda scoffed. "Please, Hermione. You work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, don't you? Simply tell them you investigated and discovered it was nothing. No harm, no foul. Nobody died."

"I work for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes! I'm an Obliviator. I lost my law enforcement job when I was arrested! Remember being arrested?"

This darkened Andromeda's expression. While she'd spent very little time in Azkaban, every moment incarcerated was a moment too many.

"Hey," said Draco suddenly, turning to his mother. "You're the only one of us who's never been in prison."

"Yet!" snapped Hermione. "We shall see what Minister Shacklebolt says when I tell him–"

"You can't tell him!" Now Narcissa felt slightly panicked. The girl couldn't be serious... could she?

"It's better if I tell him than if he finds out some other way. I cannot believe this. I cannot believe this!"

"We promise to never, ever drink again." Andromeda held up her right hand as if officially swearing to this. "In exchange, isn't there anything you can do... or anything Harry can do... to keep us out of trouble?"

"The completion of an alcohol rehabilitation program may be enough to save the two of you," she said, indicating the witches. "But Draco, there's absolutely no possibility Arthur and Flora will be able to let you continue working in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, and you'll be lucky if the Wizengamot doesn't send you straight back to Azkaban to await trial."

"No!" Narcissa leapt up, got dizzy, and put one hand on Draco's shoulder to steady herself. She had mostly sobered but her hangover remained; she pinched the bridge of her nose as she spoke. "No, he had nothing to do with it. It was all us. Me and Andromeda. And I'll swear to that in front of the Wizengamot. Please, Hermione, you cannot let him go back to Azkaban, not after all he's done and been through, and after..."

"If you want to tell the Minister you and your sister alone are to blame, I will not speak to the contrary." Hermione looked down upon her boyfriend with annoyance and pity, but also with love. "I don't want to see Draco back in prison either."

"I'm never drinking another drop of whiskey again." Andromeda buried her face in her hands, so her next words came out muffled. "If Nymphadora were alive, she'd be furious with me. She might even ask that they take me to Azkaban to teach me a lesson. If I have to return to rehab, that's what I'll do."

"Not me." Narcissa plopped back down. "I'm staying right here in my home, thank you. But I promise not to drink so much. No more than one glass of wine in a sitting and no spirits."

"Not good enough, Mrs. Malfoy."

"All we did was get a bit pissed and send a–"

"Is that all you did?" Hermione interrupted. "I don't think it was. Push up your sleeve and look at your arm. Just look at it!"

Narcissa obediently pushed up her sleeve, taking in the damage. She sighed.

"You've been burning yourself again, haven't you?"

"It's not that bad."

"Your skin looks like the wax dripping down a melting candle."

Narcissa clenched her jaw tightly shut as her nose twitched. While Hermione's description was not far off, she hated to have anyone comment negatively on her appearance, ever. She was far too vain and, frankly, secretly insecure to handle such criticisms, no matter how true they may be. She pulled her sleeve down over the newest scarring and blinked back tears.

"It's Andromeda's fault," mumbled Narcissa. "She provided the alcohol."

"Me?! I didn't force you to drink it."

"No, but you–"

Before Narcissa could complete her sentence, one of the house-elves reappeared.

"Mister Harry Potter is at the gate, Master Malfoy," she squeaked.

"Show him in," said Draco, though he wasn't happy about having the man in his house. They had not spoken since that disastrous dinner, though they did nod at each other whenever they had to share a lift at the Ministry. The elf disapparated to do as told, and moments later, Harry Potter was standing inside Malfoy Manor for the first time since he'd come as the prisoner of Snatchers, over a year and a half ago.

Potter looked about as happy to be there this time as he had last time (though this time his face was free from the effects of a stinging hex).

"Well," he said, staring down at the trio on the couch, arms folded, the mirror image of Hermione. "Who wants to start?"

No one jumped at the chance.

But it started forty-eight hours earlier, on the seventh of December, one day before the first anniversary of Lucius Malfoy's execution.

Severus sat in his sitting room, staring at a piece of parchment in his hands, one that had just been delivered.

"What is it?" Narcissa snuggled up beside him on the couch, her toes tucked under his thigh, content when he put an arm around her. She kissed his cheek.

"I have the opportunity to procure a plant I've been seeking for months. I want to experiment with it in order to create a better, less bitter Skele-Gro.

"Then why do you look as if your cat died?"

"I hate cats, remember?"

"You know what I mean."

"In order to obtain it, I would have to leave straight away. Today. Before lunch."

"But you're not hurrying out the door."

"I would be gone overnight. At least two nights. Possibly a third." He folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket before pulling her close. "Another opportunity will arise. There's no rush."

"This is because of me!" She detached herself from his grip, putting some distance between them. "You're afraid to leave me alone. I am not a child, Severus. I don't need you to nanny me."

"Tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my husband's death. I know. Trust me, it's been at the forefront of my mind for weeks. What are you afraid of?"

"A relapse."

Her eyes narrowed; she was clearly insulted. "I do not intend to drink, nor do I foresee self-injury."

"Still, I do not feel it would be prudent to abandon you now, when..."

"I am a strong woman, Severus. I know I've had a difficult year, but... what wife wouldn't? But I hate that you feel you can't trust me. It's insulting."

"The day before Valentine's Day, you burnt your arm to blisters and broke your nose when you fainted onto the floor."

"That was ten months ago."

"You got pissed with your sister in August."

"That was four months ago, and all that resulted was a slight hangover. I am _fine_."

"Let me worry about you, damn it."

"Stop worrying about me, damn it!"

Severus sighed. He reached across the couch to Narcissa, taking her arm and guiding her toward him until she was straddling his lap with his hands on her arse and her arms around his neck. He briefly kissed her pouting lips.

"Do you not worry about Draco? I seem to recall you coming to me sick with worry only three and a half years ago. If I remember correctly, you were willing to do anything to keep him safe. Why was that?"

"Because he's my son. Because I love him."

"And I love you." He kissed her again. "Let me worry."

Also worried, back in Wiltshire, was Hermione.

"I've just gotten a letter from George." She handed the parchment to Draco. "He heard a rumor that the Wizengamot will be coming to a decision about whether to resume the planned executions or suspend them indefinitely within the next few days. It was sent the day before yesterday."

Draco felt sick as his heart sunk into his stomach. Both Goyle and Zabini's fathers were scheduled for executions that got delayed after the debacle at the Ministry on the anniversary of the Final Battle. He settled on the sitting room couch beside her, opposite a roaring fire.

"Goyle's been sick over this since last October. Thirteen months of waiting and wondering."

"I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish I could spend the entire day with you."

"I'll be alright, trust me." He patted her knee the way his father used to do when reassuring his worried mother during the war. "My father has been gone 364 days already and I've managed to cope. What's another day?"

"Draco, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm worried about you. I feel like you haven't gone through the grieving process yet. Not for your father, not for Crabbe... You suffered two significant losses last year, and because you had to spend the aftermath seeing your mother through her own process, I fear that you–"

"I've read the book now too, Hermione. It says right there on the first page of Chapter One that all people grieve in their own way; the stages are merely a guide. I'm fine, truly I am! I skipped from shock to acceptance faster than most because I had to, because of my mother, sure, but there's absolutely no reason you shouldn't go to work without worrying about what's going on here. If my mother is with Snape, I'll spend the day reading or I'll bake something, visit Goyle maybe. I don't understand why they insisted upon giving me the day off in the first place. I didn't ask for it. Bit presumptuous of the boss, really."

"I trust you." Hermione placed a quick peck on his cheek. "I'll come by after?"

"Please. You know, since it will be a difficult day for me, perhaps you should plan to stay over. Just to ease my pain, to keep me company... I'm sure we can find a way to keep my mind off..."

"I don't know if you're being a Slytherin right now or just being a man, but using your father's death to get yourself a little sympathy sex is positively abhorrent." She swatted at his chest and he laughed, but the truth was, he wasn't hoping for sympathy sex as much as he was a distraction... and something to look forward to. Because he hadn't been entirely honest with Hermione in regards to his feelings about the anniversary of Lucius Malfoy's execution. Far from being fine, he'd been having nightmares, increasing both in frequency and in terror-level, over the last two weeks leading up to it.

They started one night in mid-November. Hermione was at her parents' house, as she'd been for a month, and he'd had a particularly difficult day at work. The Hand of Glory, which he'd once seen on display at Borgin and Burkes, had somehow ended up in the possession of a Muggle man who'd claimed to have paid a hefty sum for it, but instead of helping him thieve in the night (as it gave light only to the beholder) it had attempted to strangle him in his sleep.

That night, while tossing and turning unable to succumb to sleep, Draco's mind drifted back to the summer before second year, when he first saw it on display. Borgin told him of its powers and he was intrigued, but his father coolly informed the proprietor of the Dark artifacts shop that he rather hoped his son would amount to more than a petty criminal, and Draco had felt his face go hot with humiliation. His father had high standards for him, but did not hold him in high esteem, and when they returned home to Malfoy Manor Lucius was angry that his son had embarrassed him.

"I only asked about it!" Draco protested. "I didn't say I was going to use it!"

"When you are in public, boy, you are representing the entire Malfoy line and name, and it is a name we who came before you do not wish to see marred by scandal or muddled by rumors of wrongdoing."

"You commit acts of wrongdoing!" shouted Draco. "You got in a bloody row with Weasley's father right in the–"

"Do not talk back to your father, Draco," Narcissa said calmly, taking her husband's side as she always did. "If he says you embarrassed him today, the correct response is to–"

"Shut it, Mother!" snapped Draco, immediately regretting this. She was visibly taken aback, as he's never spoken to her this way before and he wondered if it hurt her feelings, but before he could apologize her palm connected with his cheek.

Not counting the couple of times he'd had his hand slapped or his bottom spanked as a small child, this was the first time she'd really hit him.

"To your room, Draco," ordered Lucius. "Now."

He obeyed begrudgingly.

The summer before sixth year, it was his mother who brought him back to Borgin and Burkes, where he purchased the hand, hoping it would help him in the completion of his task. With his father in Azkaban and his mother barely hanging on, there was no one to lecture him on the preservation of the Malfoy family name.

He left it in his Hogwarts dormitory and did not return after the Final Battle to collect it, nor did he ask to be reunited with his other possessions, though most were eventually mailed to him. He had no idea whether it had been misplaced, reclaimed, or stolen, nor did he care.

But seeing it again after it nearly murdered a man turned his stomach. He felt responsible, even though he'd had nothing to do with it ending up in the Muggle's possession. He felt responsible for a lot of things. If he'd done a better job of testifying on his father's behalf, maybe the man wouldn't have been sentenced to death. If he'd gotten involved with W.W.A.M.M. earlier, maybe he could have prevented the previous fall and winter's executions. If he'd taken up Dumbledore on his offer to hide him and his mother while his father was in prison, maybe none of them would have fought on the side of the Dark Lord at all, and all three would have been spared their post-war trials. Or he could have been a spy, like Snape. He could have told Snape his plan sixth year. He could have asked Snape to help his mother. He might have learned that Snape and his mother had made the Unbreakable Vow... he wondered if it would have been a relief to know he didn't have to kill Dumbledore, or if he would have been furious with both of them (and his aunt Bellatrix) for going about their little plan behind his back, as if he wasn't capable.

Of course, the truth was, he _wasn't_ capable. He wasn't any more cut out to be a killer than he was a thief or plunderer... or his father in miniature, despite his mother's pride in declaring him such.

That night in mid-November he dreamt he was in Azkaban, trying to break his father out using the Hand of Glory to light his way. But when he found his father's cell, the man refused to come with him.

"You've destroyed the Malfoy name, Draco," Lucius said coldly. "You've shown the world that Malfoys are weak. You couldn't best Potter in Quidditch at twelve and you couldn't end the life of a tired old man at sixteen. As an adult, you couldn't stop your mother from burning herself, and you can't save me from being executed. You gave my wife to that traitor Snape and you gave a place in our home to a dirty Mudblood. You're a failure, Draco. You disgust me. I'd rather be dead than leave here with you. Do you hear me, Draco? I said I'd rather be _dead_!"

At the barking of that last word, the Hand of Glory crashed to the floor of the cell, which fell into darkness. In the distance he heard the familiar cackling of his aunt Bellatrix, echoing off hollow walls.

"Who's there?" called a woman, and even though he'd never actually heard her voice before, Draco recognized it to be that of Nymphadora Tonks, his only cousin. The hugely-pregnant Metamorph rushed into the cell wearing the robes of an Auror, her bubblegum pink hair barely visible in the dim light from the tip of her wand. "You!"

"I can explain!" Draco threw up his hands in surrender. Behind him, his father muttered something that sounded like, "A disappointment." Bellatrix's cackling grew louder, madder.

"You're just like the rest of them!" exclaimed Tonks. "Evil!"

"No! I swear, I'm reformed! I..."

"Reformed!" his father spat. "He shags a Mudblood!"

Bellatrix's cackles were all around them, overlapping, as if six of her were laughing all at the same time.

"You could never be reformed!" said Nymphadora, holding out her wand. She swished it and he knew what was coming before she even uttered the incantation. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Draco sat bolt upright in bed, jarring the cat, who purred beside him. His heart was racing. He'd never had such a vivid dream. It had been as if they were there, truly there, as if he'd been truly there, but of course such a thing was impossible.

The dreams became a regular occurrence, getting increasingly dark, which he wouldn't have thought possible after that dismal first one. He thought about requesting Dreamless Sleep from Severus, but as he hadn't spoken to the man since throwing him out, he wasn't eager to go asking for a favor. And he couldn't go through his mother without telling her about the nightmares, thus he simply tried to get by on as little sleep as possible, skipping it completely some nights.

He kept telling himself soon Hermione would return and the dreams would cease, even though they hadn't started on account of her leaving. But he didn't seem to have them when she was curled up in bed beside him.

"Draco? What are you thinking about? You seem... far away."

Her voice jarred Draco. He'd almost forgotten she was there, that he was in the sitting room, that he wasn't in bed fighting off a nightmare right now. Exhaustion was playing with his mind.

"It's nothing," he assured her. "I'll be fine. Go to work, come here after. We'll have dinner."

"Alright," she agreed, but the look on her face told him he'd not assuaged her worries.

Back at the home on Spinner's End, Narcissa was employing a distraction tactic she'd often used on her husband during their twenty-five year marriage.

Sex.

"Yes... fuck... yes... Narcissa..." groaned Severus and she bounced up and down in his lap, facing him on the couch. They'd only partially undressed – she was topless with her skirt gathered around her waist, and his shirt was unbuttoned while his trousers were only removed enough to grant her access to his erection, on which she'd already used her mouth, quickly progressing from there. He kept his hands on her thighs, encouraging the movement as she lifted herself until he was nearly out, and then fell back down, taking him completely inside her.

She grabbed his throat, applying just-enough pressure, and whispered harshly in his ear, "Tell me you love me, Severus."

"I love you, Narcissa."

She tightened her grip on his throat, making it difficult for him to comfortably breathe, and sped up her pace. He was close, she could tell, but she wasn't ready to be done.

"Tell me why. Tell me _why_ you love me."

"I... oh... oh, fuck."

She squeezed his throat even more. "Tell me."

"I love you," he managed to say, despite the pressure against his larynx. "I love you because you're beautiful, you're witty, you're... you're... fuck, you're hurting me."

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked innocently, ceasing all movement, but not removing her hand from his throat.

"Don't stop." He placed one hand over hers, encouraging her to resume choking him, and gripped her thigh with the other, urging her to continue. "Harder."

A grin grew across her lips. He was generally such a tender lover – enthusiastic, as she told her sister, but gentle and giving – so realizing this was turning him on as much as it was her increased the delightful throbbing sensation between her legs. She pressed the backs of her thighs to the tops of his as she switched from bouncing to grinding over him in slow circles. She placed a kiss just under his ear before whispering in it.

"Sometimes, Severus, I want you to hurt me. Hold me down, pull my hair. Slap me, bite me. Leave bruises. Make me scream."

"I... I can't hurt you..." He tried not to think about the fact that this was probably what she'd done with Lucius, and tried to pretend there was no connection between the anniversary of his execution coming up tomorrow and the fact that she suddenly wanted him to engage in rougher coupling.

"I like it." She kissed him, hard, and released his throat. She let her teeth scrape his bottom lip before pulling away, only to grab a fist full of his hair, jerk his head back, and run her tongue over the spot on his throat where she'd just been pressing with her palm. She nipped at his Adam's apple before dragging her tongue along his neck to the scar from Nagini's bite. She sucked over the raised skin here, then kissed his lips, before adding innocently, "Please?"

Against his better judgment, he responded by repositioning them so that she was on her back. He grabbed her wrists and pinned both above her head, holding them in place on the arm of the couch with one of his hands.

"Like this?" he asked, grabbing behind her knee under her skirt with the other hand. He thrust into her unforgivingly over and over, never tearing his eyes away from hers. She smiled. It felt incredible... and it reminded her of all she'd been missing since they locked Lucius away. He used to bind her wrists above her head using magic, he used to pummel into her with such force... he used to leave her throbbing and aching and weak...

"You like this?" Severus asked, still seeking reassurance.

"I love you," she replied, trying to push from her mind that word her son had uttered just over a month before... _'Transference.'_ She cried out with pleasure as Severus tightened his grip on her wrists and bent his body to bite down on her shoulder. His chest pressed against her bare breasts, his open shirt caused friction against her nipples, and when he suddenly slapped her thigh, hard enough to leave a welt, while his mouth connected with hers, this small action was enough to send tremors of sheer bliss through her body.

"I love you," he reiterated, just before his own release took from him the ability to form coherent thought. He collapsed on top of her, spent, and she closed her eyes, closed her mind, and... _for just the tiniest second..._ let herself pretend it was her husband's weight on top of her.

Narcissa returned to Malfoy Manor shortly thereafter, as there was no reason for her to stay in Cokeworth with Severus gone for several days. She ate a small house-elf prepared dinner alone, though her son had asked if she wanted to join him and Hermione Granger at a restaurant (she politely declined) and she crawled into bed early, after a long, hot bath, during which she let herself mentally travel back in time to the aftermath of the Final Battle, when she and Lucius should have been taking care of their confused and broken son, but were showering together and making love instead.

Fuck, she loved him. She _loved_ him. And even though he'd cheated on her nearly a decade ago, she knew he loved her too. He was the love of her life, her soul mate, made for her. He was beautiful pristine perfection, even better looking naked than he was clothed, though he looked good in whatever he wore. He was her Peacock and she was his Feather and Severus...

What was Severus?

A friend. A lover. Something more?

She loved him too, didn't she?

Did she?

Or was it... transference?

"I'm so sorry, Severus," she whispered into the darkness. Whether she truly loved him or not, he clearly loved her, and he'd never been in love before, not really. If she broke his heart, she'd be worse than Lily Evans Potter, so much worse, because she let him believe...

But no, she _did_ love him, didn't she?

Did she?

"And I'm sorry, Lucius. And Draco. I'm sorry, Draco." She wiped her nose on her nightgown sleeve, furious at the tears welling up in her tired eyes. "I'm not a good wife, I'm not a good mother, and I'm not a good... whatever I am to Severus. Can any of you ever forgive me?"

For the first time in a long time, she draped Lucius' dressing gown over her body, and cried herself to sleep.

The following morning, Draco woke well-rested, for a nice change. He'd slept through the night without nightmares, presumably due to the fact that he had Hermione sleeping beside him.

"Are you awake?" he asked, sliding his hand across her abdomen under her pajama top.

"What time is it?"

"Half past six."

"I can sleep another half hour. I don't have to be into work until eight-thirty today."

"You _could_ sleep another half hour..." The tips of his fingers made their way just under the band of her pajama bottoms. "Or you could wake up early."

"Didn't we just do this last night?" she asked, but she tilted up her pelvis, encouraging him as his hand slipped lower.

"Yes. And now we can do it this morning." He was inside her knickers now, but paused, awaiting permission to continue.

"Draco!" she said his name as if annoyed, but her own hand joined his, as he guided his fingers to where she wanted them. "Very well, so long as you don't make me late."

He made quick work of readying her, rubbing and flicking at her clitoris in the ways he knew she liked, until she was slick and gasping and bucking her hips. His tongue met hers as she pulled him over her – she liked it best with him on top – and they quickly divested each other of their nightclothes.

"You're the best lover I've ever had," she teased as she stroked his hard cock with one hand, digging her short nails into his shoulder with the other.

"Funny." He positioned his tip between her folds, massaging her clit with it as if it were a toy. "Every witch I've had has said the same. I must be incredible."

"Every witch? You mean both of us?" She wrapped her legs around his waist as he entered her, crossing her ankles behind his back.

They kissed and rocked and touched and moaned, and when they changed positions so that she was on her stomach with him behind her, still on top, he kissed the back of her shoulder and said the words he'd been longing to ask for over a month.

"Please move back in. Move in with me."

"Oh, Draco, I..."

"Live with me. Live here. Share my bed. I hate sleeping without you." He moved his right hand between her body and the mattress to pleasure her, even though, especially in this position, he liked it better when she did this herself.

"Christmas," she answered, tilting up her arse to grant him better access. His slid in and out of her quim with rapid speed; each thrust made her gasp between words. "If we're still happy together at Christmas, then... then... then..." Her impending orgasm distracted her from her proposal.

He abruptly pulled out, flipped her over, and kissed her hard on the mouth, an action she heartily reciprocated. She then took his length in her hand and guided him back inside her, her knees bent on either side of his hips, and arched her back as he fucked her erratically, a sure sign he was close to coming. She used her own fingers to continue what his had started in the previous position, causing her own impending release to rebuild. For the first few months they'd been sleeping together, she hadn't been comfortable enough to do this with him, or in front of him, but eventually – oddly, once they were living apart – sex became so natural between them she no longer felt inhibited, much to their mutual satisfaction.

When she finally hit her high, her body trembled, and her half-closed eyes and parted lips were too much for him. He immediately pulled out, spilling himself on her lower abdomen, as she struggled to catch her breath and regain her mental faculties. He collapsed beside her and reached for his wand to Vanish his seed.

"Thanks," she said weakly. "Have you got past your animosity toward Professor Snape?"

"Not exactly." Draco closed his eyes and concentrated on the quickened pace of his heartbeat, waiting for it to resume normal speed. "But even if I had, I can't ask the man who's shagging my mother to brew us a birth control potion."

"Ask your mother, then." Hermione rolled onto her side, placing her palm in the center of his chest. "It's too dangerous to do it this way and we can't trust the Diagon Alley Apothecary anymore, not since..."

"I know."

Just after Halloween, quite the scandal had been broken by the Prophet, when it was revealed that the nearly hundred-and-thirty-year-old potions master who ran it was losing his touch – and, the reporter surmised, his mental faculties. Several of his potions had to be recalled, and at least seven women reported having become pregnant while on his contraceptive potion, including Angelina Johnson, George Weasley's girlfriend, who wasn't happy about it being the potential end of her Quidditch career (though Molly was thrilled about future grand-motherhood, an uncharacteristically melancholy-sounding George told Hermione).

"I'll ask him if you won't," said Hermione. "Or I'll ask your mother."

"You ask my mother." Draco smirked. "Should be an interesting conversation."

"Don't think I won't! I'm not afraid of your mother."

"I think you will. I think it'll be hilarious." He opened his eyes, rolled toward her, and grinned. "Let me know how it turns out."

"Perhaps I'll ask her for a few tips and new techniques, too. See if she can teach me to–"

"No!" Draco's grin disappeared faster than a banished house-elf. "I don't want her teaching you anything! I don't want... forget I said... That's disgusting. I'd rather have you pregnant than have you trying out any techniques learnt from my _mother_!"

"Well, I'd rather _not_ have me pregnant, so talk to Professor Snape, won't you?" She leaned over and kissed his cheek without awaiting an answer. "And keep your mother company today. She may not be as far along in the grieving process as you claim to be. I'll see you after work."

With that, she extracted herself from the bed and headed to the shower, leaving Draco feeling cold, lonely, and sick. He'd woken up so happy about not having had any bad dreams he'd actually forgotten what the day was, and now that he remembered, he wished she hadn't mentioned it.

Two hours later, Narcissa and Draco sat for breakfast together, but neither felt much like eating. Then she dragged him into the library to look at photo albums – not one of his favorite activities.

"Why do we have so many bloody pictures?"

"Because I've always been very beautiful and therefore thought it necessary to have evidence of that picture permanently, in case I should ever lose my looks."

"I must have inherited my modesty from you," Draco quipped, but he did so without a shred of humor in his tone. She opened another book, this one with the words "10 Years Married, Dubai" on the cover.

"This was the first trip we took alone after you were born. Left you here with both of your grandmothers. I was terribly worried about being apart. My mother was never... maternal... and I was afraid she wouldn't give you the love and attention you were used to while we were gone, but your Grandmother Malfoy spoiled you enough for the both of them.

Draco had been about three when his parents spent that week in the United Arab Emirates and he had very little memory of being without them, save for a vague recollection of having been brought to Hogsmeade to try on new dress robes with Grandmother Black, who slapped his face when he complained about the itchy collar. This was years before his mother ever did so, and he'd sobbed so hard they had to leave Diagon Alley, for which he received another slap once they returned home. Grandmother Malfoy's affection did _not_ make up for Grandmother Black's quick temper, as far as he was concerned. He'd been thrilled to see his parents return.

"Look, there we are on the beach. Do you think I was pretty?"

"Ask Snape if you were pretty," Draco said bitterly. He knew he wasn't being nice and didn't understand why. His mother hadn't done anything to hurt him. Perhaps it was the thought of having been abandoned by them for eight days, or perhaps it was the realization that they'd always loved each other more than either of them loved him...

But no, that wasn't fair. They loved him. They both did. Especially his mother. She'd made the Unbreakable Vow for him.

He wasn't being rational.

He felt dark inside.

He felt the way he had in Azkaban.

Narcissa ignored his comment, choosing to turn the page instead. In the top picture on the left, she and Lucius were in a hotel room, her back against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on her arse, kissing.

"Who took these pictures?" asked Draco, pulling a face.

"Dobby. He used to go with your father everywhere, the big-eared traitor."

"You made him take pictures of you – oy, no!" Draco quickly slammed the book closed. On the next page, onto which she'd just turned, they were still kissing... but wearing considerably less clothing.

"I forgot that one was in here. Don't worry, the rest are fine."

"No, Mother, please." Draco put a hand on the cover of the book, keeping it closed. "I cannot spend the entire day with you doing this, looking through old photographs, ripping open wounds. He's been gone a year, sure, but it's just another day. One day more than yesterday and one day less than tomorrow. Let's do something to distract us instead. Let's go shopping. You enjoy shopping."

"We're not going shopping on the anniversary of the day they killed your father, Draco. What is wrong with you?"

"I can't think about it. I can't think about him, I can't think about the execution. You weren't there, Mother. You didn't see it! You didn't see him! You don't know what it was like when–"

"I know that!" She stood up quickly, letting the heavy album fall to the floor with a clunk. "I was too weak to be there, alright? I was too... too broken, too damaged, too in denial. I wasn't there for him and I wasn't there for you and there's not a damn thing I can do about that now, can I? Why won't you stop hating me for it?"

"What?" He jumped up too. "I don't hate you for it!"

"Of course you do! You must! You had to watch the execution alone, you had to grieve your friend Crabbe alone, you had to live half a year alone, all because I couldn't get myself out of bed or–"

"Where is this coming from?"

"Tell the truth, Draco. You resent me. You're angry with me for not having been there for you! Deep down, you hate me!"

"At the moment, I can't say I like you," he snapped, surprising even himself. Seeing the hurt across her face, he quickly softened and added, "But I love you. I always love you."

"I'm sorry." She sniffled, hugged the album to her chest, and avoided his eye. "I'm sorry."

Before he could apologize too, a house-elf appeared to inform Narcissa that Andromeda had arrived.

"Were you expecting her?" asked Draco as Narcissa returned the album to its shelf.

"No. I have no idea why she's come."

Andromeda was at the door looking a bit worse for wear. There were melting snowflakes in her wild hair and her eyes had deep purple bags underneath. Draco did a double-take upon seeing her, as she looked so much like his Aunt Bellatrix for one panicked millisecond he thought the sadist had come back from the dead.

"You look like hell," said Narcissa as a house-elf took her sister's coat.

"I feel worse than I look," replied Andromeda wearily as she tapped her wand to her glasses, drying the water dripping down the lenses. She was dressed like Hermione would on her off-work days, in short-heeled boots, blue jeans, and a heavy dark gray pullover, an odd contrast to his mother, who was wearing a long black witch's robe over a gold dress with a tight bodice. The elder Black sister wore not a stitch of makeup, whereas his mother was rarely seen without it. They not only looked unrelated, they looked as though they were from entire different worlds.

"You wear glasses?" asked Narcissa. "Since when?"

"I've needed them for distance since I was pregnant with Nymphadora. She made me fat, stole my eyesight, and left me with an unsightly scar when she wouldn't come out properly thus I had to be cut open."

Draco shuddered, not at mention of the scar, but because it brought to the forefront of his mind that awful recurring dream, featuring pregnant cousin Nymphadora, telling him he'd never be reformed. He was relieved to bid the two women adieu when they headed into the sitting room. As soon as the door was closed, Andromeda grabbed Narcissa by the wrist.

"I fucked a man."

"You what? Barnaby, you mean? That little boy's grandfather?"

"No." Andromeda pulled her sister toward the couch, gestured for her to sit, set down her heavy bag, and settled beside her. "Another man. His name is Robert."

"Robert what?"

"How the fuck should I know, Robert What? Just Robert. I met him last night in a bar."

"You met a man last night in a bar and–"

"This is not easy for me to talk about, Cissy, so I'm going to have to ask you to shut it until I give you permission to speak. If I don't get it all out quickly I may have to live with it inside me, festering, for the rest of my life."

"Go on, then."

"Last night, Barnaby had a schoolgirl taking care of his grandson, while Teddy is staying at Harry and Ginny's for a couple of nights while she's recovering from a Quidditch injury. Hit hard in the head, can't play for a week. I was excited to have this alone time, as I thought Barnaby and I could use it to become better acquainted. We met for dinner last night in London, after work. Midway through starters, he got a phone call from the girl–"

"He got a what?"

"A phone call. It's a... a phone is... it's like..." Andromeda let out an exasperated burst of air. "He has a cellular phone, which is... imagine you could send messages through a small box, the way you can via Owl or with a Patronus. The point is, she contacted him and said Greyson was sick, vomiting, had a fever, and Barnaby needed to rush home. I was depressed to call it a night and... here is where I made my tragic mistake... I went to the bar for just one drink before heading back to my empty house. Halfway through my second whiskey I met Robert, presumably a Muggle, who offered to buy me a third. I ended up taking the tube – that's like a Knight Bus for Muggles, but underground – back to his flat, where I let him fuck me."

Narcissa looked utterly repulsed. "But why, Meda? Why would you–"

"I was pissed, I was depressed, I wasn't thinking. And it was awful. He was rough."

"Oh?" Now the blonde leaned forward slightly, unable to hide her curiosity. "How rough?"

"He threw me down, pulled my hair, and hit me across the face."

"You had me intrigued until that last one!" Narcissa's expression had changed into one of appalling. "I used to love it when Lucius threw me around or pulled my hair, but he never, never would have hit my face, not ever."

"Yes, well, I told Robert that he was never, never to hit my face again either, and he didn't, but he did belittle me for being a prig."

"Fuck him, then."

"I did!"

"That's not what I–"

"When he was done, he told me if I wanted to shower before leaving the loo was down the hall on the left, and then he rolled over and fell asleep. Passed out, maybe. I don't know. He'd been drinking too. I apparated home right from his bedroom, took a shower in my own bathroom, and thought quite seriously about hanging myself."

"Ohh, Meda..." Narcissa took her sister's hand between hers and nearly started to cry when the first tears escaped down Andromeda's cheeks. Cissy had always been the most emotional of Cygnus and Druella's three daughters. Even as children, no matter what happened, Bella and Meda rarely cried.

"Even when I was cheating on Ted, even when I was nearly with Barnaby, I've never in my entire life felt so dirty and... and... and... I don't even know his bloody name! I don't care about him, I don't want to see him again, but now I feel like I've been unfaithful to two men in one go, Ted and Barnaby, and I don't even know why I did it!"

"Because you were drinking," said Narcissa, enveloping Andromeda in her arms. Andromeda, for once, did not fight back against this tender physical contact, she didn't even try to remind Narcissa that hugging is not something she does.

"The only reason I didn't hang myself, Cissy, is Teddy. It wouldn't be fair to him to lose me after losing his parents, though I have to say, I think Harry and Ginny – despite being so young – could do a better job of raising him than I can!"

"That's not true! But I know how you feel. This time last year, the primary reason I didn't kill myself is because it would require getting out of bed to take the initiative, which I couldn't seem to manage. I told myself, Draco is grown now, you're only holding him down, you're hurting him, he'd be better if you were gone, and then I thought perhaps I'd see Lucius again. It's possible, isn't it? We can't know what exists 'beyond the veil.'"

"It was this time last year, wasn't it? Narcissa, I'm sorry, I forgot!" Andromeda pulled herself up, wiped her eyes, and tried to regain control of her emotions.

"One year ago today, yes."

"You need this as much as I do, then." Andromeda reached for her heavy brown suede bag, placed it on the couch between them, and opened it. "Whiskey and wine. Which would you like? I'm partial to the former but–"

"It would be cruel for me to make you drink alone." Narcissa reached in and pulled out one of three bottles of elf-made red wine, featuring Severus' favorite label.

An hour later, Draco joined them.

An hour after that, he, too, was pissed.

An hour after that, an Owl arrived carrying the Quibbler. The front page broke a story the Daily Prophet had wanted to report on first, but they were too late.

All Executions Suspended Indefinitely.

Minister Shacklebolt Expected to Call For New Sentencing Hearings.

Apologies to Families of Those Already Put to Death Expected.

"Too fucking late," said Draco, reaching for what was left in the second whiskey bottle. "Fat lot of good that does us now."

"Fuck the Ministry," said Andromeda. "A fortnight ago I finally received word regarding Nymphadora's Auror payout. What they estimated she was worth, awarded to Teddy because his mother was killed while doing her job. They determined because she was murdered by a relative, it could fall under the category 'domestic dispute,' thus they're on the hook for nothing. Not a sickle. If anyone else had killed her, he would be able to collect from their Auror War Orphans Fund, but because Bella bloody did it..." Andromeda snatched the wine from Narcissa, since no whiskey remained. "They're the same monsters they were when the Ministry was under You-Know-Who's control. Fuck them and fuck Shaklebolt."

"We ought to send them a message," said Narcissa furiously, slurring her words. "Teach the Minister a lesson."

"Yes!" Draco, who was slumped in his chair, having consumed too much alcohol too quickly to handle it, lifted his hand in agreement. "Teach them all!"

And it was this discussion that led to their subsequent actions that resulted in Hermione's lecture and Auror Harry's presence in Malfoy Manor the following day.

"What should I tell Teddy?" asked Harry, staring sternly down at Andromeda. "That his grandmother's headed back to Azkaban because she got pissed and wanted to send a message?"

"I'll go to prison," offered Draco. "I'll take the fall."

"You most certainly will not!" snapped Narcissa. "It's my fault! Arrest me, Potter. Leave them out of it. Send me to Azkaban."

And, because he had to arrest _someone_ and she had both the cleanest record and the least to lose, that's precisely what Harry Potter did.


	27. Healing

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:**

 **HEALING**

She was sent to Azkaban on a Thursday.

The first night wasn't so bad. She was certain once Severus returned he'd have her out quickly.

The second night was worse. She was starting to worry.

By the third night, she was huddled in the corner of her cell, crying, certain she'd made the worst mistake of her life.

The fourth night passed in a blur of tremors and intermittent nightmares.

Finally, Aurors came to collect her on Monday morning for a Ministry hearing in front of the partial Wizengamot. Beforehand, she was brought to an empty, windowless room, and ordered to wait. She wished they'd allowed her to clean up before the trial. Her hair was unwashed and dry, hanging loosely over her shoulders, she had cried off her mascara and wore no other makeup, her prison garb was dusty and dirty from the floor and walls of her cell, her under-eyes sported purpling bags, and her cheeks were splotchy from crying. How could she possibly make a good impression in front of the Wizengamot looking like this?

(Though maybe looking a mess would garner a modicum of sympathy.)

She had her back to the door, her arms wrapped around her body, her eyes brimming with tears, when someone finally entered the room. She did not turn to see who'd come to escort her. She was praying again – praying she wouldn't be sent back to prison. Footsteps approached. She willed herself to stay calm. If she could lie to the Dark Lord, if she could use the Imperius Curse via Legilimency right there in the chamber in front of everyone, she could certainly stand straight-backed and suppress all emotions in front of them.

"Narcissa," said a low, familiar voice, and her resolve immediately crumbled. She whirled around to see him standing there, black frock coat, black trousers, his hair partially hiding his face, his eyes looking upon her with concern.

"Severus," she whispered. "Don't look at me."

"Why?"

"I'm... not pretty." This was not the only reason she was too ashamed to have him see her, of course, but it was what came out first. Her nose twitched.

"Oh, Narcissa." He rubbed his hands comfortingly up and down her arms. "I've seen you looking much worse."

"What?"

("You're still pretty!" would have been the correct response.)

He kissed the tip of her nose.

"I called in a favor from Potter. I'll be able to testify on your behalf as a character witness and they've given us fifteen minutes alone – though we're being monitored – before they take you in. What happened? It's my fault, of course. I should not have left you."

"You should have been able to leave me! I..." She buried her face against his chest, inhaling deeply, comforted by his clean, familiar scent. "I'm sorry, Severus. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry you couldn't trust me. I'm sorry I asked you to hurt me."

"Hm?" He hadn't been expecting that third 'I'm Sorry.' "Why are you sorry for that?"

She secured her arms around his waist and relaxed into his embrace. She couldn't tell him she'd only asked for that because she missed her husband. She couldn't admit she'd spent several days in her cell questioning whether she truly loved him or was just lonely and confused. Seeing him now, being held by him, answered all of her questions. She did truly love him. She loved him, and she loved Lucius, and she'd just have to find a way to reconcile within herself the fact that she was in love with two men at once.

He kissed the top of her head while awaiting her response, though he had the feeling none would be forthcoming. After a too-long silence (they had limited time, after all) he moved on.

"Tell me what exactly you did and why you did it. I need to know in order to help you."

But Severus was not the only one trying to help Narcissa.

Upstairs on a higher floor in the Ministry, Andromeda Tonks was insisting upon an unscheduled meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"The Minister does not simply open his doors for anyone who asks!" exclaimed his frazzled assistant, a graying-haired woman barely taller than Flitwick.

"He needs to open his doors for me," insisted Andromeda. She was wearing a soft pink cardigan over a white blouse and a navy blue pencil skirt, with her hair back in two French braids and her glasses perched on her nose. She had forgone makeup save for a little blush and had returned her wedding ring to the proper finger – she'd been unable to stomach wearing it since the war ended, as every glance at the modest diamond set in white gold reminded her painfully of her late husband and beloved daughter. She wanted Shacklebolt to see her for who she was, a widow, a daughterless mother, a grandmother raising a toddler alone. She wanted no resemblance to Bellatrix, nor did she want to appear to have Narcissa's wealth, and the attire was a visual reminder that she'd left the Black family to live as the wife of a Muggleborn for over twenty-five years. Teddy's hair today was his favorite bubblegum pink, and he wore little jeans and a jumper handmade by Molly Weasley, with a golden snitch knitted across the front, which he'd requested so he could look just like his godfather Harry. It had been an early Christmas gift. In true Slytherin fashion, using emotional manipulation to achieve her goals was the intention.

The assistant was just threatening to call security when Shaklebolt's office door opened.

"Andromeda," he said, clearly surprised to see her. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough that they were about to arrest us for refusing to leave," she said with a scornful look at the assistant.

"Come in, please." Once they were inside with the door closed, he reached into his desk and pulled out a Snitch. "Teddy, would you like to play?"

Of course the toddler reached for it excitedly, pointing to his shirt with one hand to say, "Match!"

"Yes," said Kingsley in his deep, resonating voice. He was smiling as he handed over the Snitch, charmed not to fly too far. "Match! Very good. Andromeda, he's the spitting image of his mother."

"Yes." Andromeda settled into the offered chair, letting Teddy dart around the office after the Snitch as they spoke. "His mother is one of two things I'd like to discuss with you."

She pulled out the official letter concerning the Auror Orphan Fund denial and passed it across the Minister's desk. "Not a sickle because she was killed by my estranged, psychopathic older sister."

"What?" Kingsley Shacklebolt scowled over the letter, reading quickly. "What is this nonsense? Teddy was denied? This is – this is unacceptable. I will handle this matter myself and see to it he gets what he's due, with an official apology. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

"You didn't know?"

"No. I would never have approved such an egregious – I liked and respected Tonks, Andromeda. I considered her a friend as well as a colleague, and the contents of this letter are nothing short of infuriating. She and her son deserve better, as do you." He glanced at the boy, who was stretching high as he could to reach the Snitch hovering just beyond his pudgy fingers. "She was killed in the line of duty by Lord Voldemort's maddest, most dangerous follower, not in any sort of domestic dispute, and I am certain those who work in this department knew that to be the case when they wrote this letter issuing the denial. Teddy will get the money for his care that he needs, and if there is anything else he needs, ever, you may come to me personally."

"Thank you, Minister." If Andromeda were a more emotional person, this would have brought tears to her eyes. She smiled at her grandson, a chubby-cheeked, happy boy, and felt overwhelmed by gratitude – not only for what Shacklebolt had promised, but for what Narcissa had done by taking the fall.

"You said there was a second thing?"

"Yes. Also family-related." She sighed. "About my sister. The knife she sent you..."

"Yes." His expression hardened. "It seems the Malfoys are not as reformed as Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom would have had me believe."

"That's not true! It's _my_ fault. I was angry about this, about what happened with Nymphadora's case, and needed to vent to someone. I brought whiskey and wine to Narcissa's home for us to share knowing full-well that she's a recovering alcoholic but I selfishly did not want to drink alone. When I arrived, I didn't realize it was the anniversary of her husband's execution, nor did I know it would be the day the permanent end to executions would be announced, both of which combined with my upset, prompting her to react as she did, thus I feel personally responsible for her actions. She was grieving and drunk and I should have stopped her from sending the knife to you rather than getting her riled up about Teddy's injustice on top of her already-existing pain."

This was almost the truth. In actuality, the message had been a joint effort between her, her sister, and Draco, but as she did not wish to implicate the boy or admit to having been the instigator (for Teddy's sake) she had carefully crafted her explanation in advance.

 _"Where is the knife?" Andromeda asked Narcissa. "Bella's knife?"_

 _"What makes you think I have the knife?"_

 _"Don't play stupid. You do it well, better than most, but I sent you that knife over a year ago and I know you would not-"_

 _"I knew it was you!" exclaimed Narcissa, her words somewhat slurred but still coherent. "I knew you were the one who sent me the knife! How did you get it?"_

 _"Nymphadora had it. I don't know how she got it. It was returned to me after her death but I'd know it anywhere and didn't want it in our home... though I couldn't bring myself to see it destroyed. It was great-grandfather's."_

 _"I know. An heirloom."_

 _"I know. That's why I sent it to you. Where is it now?"_

 _"I gave it to Hermione to use." Narcissa glanced at Draco. "Where is it now?"_

 _"In my bedside table drawer," he answered._

 _"Get the knife," said Andromeda. "And give me that pie you baked earlier. We're not going to eat it. I have an idea."_

"Narcissa has been in so much pain, Minister. Between her husband's death and learning of his infidelity, then with Draco being twice arrested and imprisoned, and her conflicting feelings regarding the loss of Bellatrix – unlike me, she both loved and feared our older sister – and her difficulties with coming to terms with her own actions and inaction during the war, I should have known better than to supply her with alcohol. Her son and Miss Granger do not permit it at Malfoy Manor."

"Her son and Miss Granger do not permit it at Malfoy Manor?" Kingsley leaned back in his chair, as if pondering this. "I knew the two were friends. Are they more? I assumed the Prophet was exaggerating."

"They are a little more than friends. Miss Granger believed she could bring out the best in my nephew at a time in which he thought there was nothing good left in him. She's a wonder, a true asset to the Mentorship Program, and partly the reason Narcissa and I have reconciled after all these years apart."

This way, of course, deviating a bit from the truth as well, laying it on a little thick, but she could see it was working, thus she continued.

"Draco has tried to care for his mother all these months, but he's only a boy, and his experiences have been traumatic as well. They did not want You-Know-Who taking up residence in their home and they both witnessed and endured unspeakable horrors at his hand. They lived in constant fear for nearly three years. Draco has done his best with his mother, including forcing her to eat and to shower and helping her after she hurts herself, but it's not easy for him, and now that he's working in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, he has even less time to devout to her care. I made things worse. Exponentially worse. I know not whether there's anything I can do now to try to appeal on her behalf, but I wanted to explain. That message she sent you wasn't a threat, but a cry for help. Help she cannot get if she's wasting away in Azkaban."

Kingsley folded his hands on his desk, watched Teddy play, and mulled this over. Andromeda watched him closely, her own hands folded in her lap, for several uncomfortable minutes until finally he broke the silence.

"I am certain we can find a way to help your sister."

It was time to head into the chamber for her trial. Severus kissed her cheek just before exiting the windowless room and she whispered that she loved him, a sentiment he quietly echoed. Once inside the room where the partial Wizengamot awaited, he took his place in the galley, while she was led to stand on the dais.

She tried to remain calm as she explained – though, like Andromeda, the story she gave was not quite the truth, but a carefully crafted version of it. During questioning, they asked about her relationship with Lucius, her connection to Hermione Granger, her loyalties to the Dark Lord and to the Ministry, and, worst of all, they asked to see her arm, as she'd admitted to having hurt herself to be rid of the Dark Mark.

She pulled up the sleeve of her prison garb and tried not to mentally process the gasps from two witches in the front row or the low whistle of a man in the third, who shook his head with pity.

"I didn't mean for it to seem that I was threatening the Minister," said Narcissa, covering up the scarring. "I meant it as an informational message. I wanted him to understand what Ministry policies have done to me, not what I want to do to him."

"Mrs. Malfoy, you sent him the knife of Bellatrix Lestrange stabbed into the center of a cherry pie baked in the shape of a heart with the word Minister painted onto the blade."

"Ministry, not Minister, and the word was on the blade to symbolize that the Ministry had... had stabbed me through the heart. They executed my husband and then, on the one-year anniversary of his execution, suspended all further executions. Men who did far worse than Lucius will have the chance to serve out prison terms and be released into mentorship and work programs, while my husband..."

 _Occlumency,_ she said to herself. _Use Occlumency. Don't get emotional. Don't let them see you cry._

"Let them see you cry."

Her head snapped up. Severus had planted the thought to clearly in her brain it was as if he'd spoken aloud from right beside her.

"I had been drinking and crying all day, and I lost my head."

"But you had the mental fortitude to bake a heart-shaped pie?"

"My son baked it." Fuck, she hadn't meant to say that. "He baked it earlier as a surprise for me, a present, because he knew it would be a difficult day, and he wanted to remind me that he loves me."

Severus' lip curled up ever so slightly into what only she recognized as the hint of a smile.

"The Ministry saw this as a threat against the life of our Minister," said a sharp-eyed bearded wizard with long, blue-painted fingernails. "We take such threats seriously."

"Of course you would," said Narcissa. "I understand. But please believe me, it was intended as an expression of my pain, the pain caused by Ministry policy, not a threat. Honestly, I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want anyone to hurt as I've hurt."

Severus nodded slightly to encourage her. This was a nice touch.

"I don't believe a decision on this can be reached today," said the bearded wizard with the blue nails. "We must discuss it at length not only amongst ourselves, but with the Minister himself, and he is far too busy to–"

"Never too busy to do what is right," said a deep, resonating voice, as the door opened and Kingsley Shacklebolt himself entered. "I believe that Mrs. Malfoy meant me no personal harm, and therefore am releasing her, though I do it with one stipulation – you will go directly from here to an alcohol rehabilitation program. St. Mungo's staff run a small facility in Scotland, not far from Hogsmeade, where our community is able to go to escape dependency on potions and spirits. You will voluntarily check yourself in for a period of at least two weeks, up to six, depending upon your progress as determined by the Healers. Do we have an agreement?"

The alcohol program was the one Andromeda herself had gone too before and she intended to go again – she'd already arranged for Harry to care for Teddy for two weeks, hoping she wouldn't need longer to regain her grasp on sobriety. She'd then suggested it to the Minister for her sister without informing him she, too, would be going. He thought it was an excellent idea and even suggested it should be better funded, since the war had sparked many such issues with addiction for those suffering during and after it.

"I... two-to-six weeks?" Narcissa sent a panicked glance in Severus' direction. The thought terrified her almost as much as a return to Azkaban. But when he nodded, and she saw nothing but fierce love in his expression, she relented. "I accept. Thank you, Minister."

"We're adjourned," he informed the shocked members of the partial Wizengamot. "Mrs. Malfoy, return home to pack. You are expected at the facility no later than seven tonight. If you are not there by seven, you will be remanded into custody and sent back to Azkaban for those six weeks."

"Yes, Minister."

"Wizengamot, return Mrs. Malfoy's wand. You are dismissed." He turned and strode from the room, leaving whispers in his wake. Severus rushed to Narcissa, hugging her to his chest, not giving a damn about who saw.

"I don't know how this happened," he murmured in her ear. "But I think it will be good for you. Let's go."

They waited until they were alone in the chamber, then she transfigured her pajama-like prison uniform into a simple black witch's robe, like the ones worn at Hogwarts, as she didn't have the energy to try for anything more complicated. He led her quickly up to the grates in the Atrium, from which they Flooed back to Malfoy Manor.

Meanwhile, in the Ministry daycare center, Andromeda was kissing Teddy goodbye.

"You'll have fun with Harry until Nana returns, won't you Teddy?"

"Harry Potter!" Teddy shouted excitedly.

She kissed him again. "I love you."

"Love you," he echoed.

She met Harry in the hall, thanked him again, and hurried off toward the exit.

Two weeks was going to feel like forever.

Draco and Hermione were both working when the decision regarding his mother was made. Arthur Weasley was explaining the conditions to the young wizard when Hermione rushed into the small office.

"Did you hear? Andromeda intervened on her behalf! She won't be going back to Azkaban!"

"Is that what tipped the scales?" asked Arthur, who'd known the outcome but not the details.

"I won't see her for at least another two weeks," said Draco, so stunned he had to sit down. "Perhaps six. She may miss Christmas. But she'll be better off, won't she? Rehabilitation..."

"She _will_ miss Christmas," said Hermione, glancing at the calendar hanging on the wall behind his desk. "But it's what she needs, Draco. You've done all you can for her. Getting pissed for you was a one-time mistake anyone can make, but for her..."

"I'm glad," he said. "I really am."

But he looked miserable.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just... can I visit her? She'll want to see me."

"I'm afraid not," said Arthur kindly, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "It's better if you let her do what she's there to do and look forward to seeing her upon her return."

Her return came without warning, eighteen days later, the morning of New Year's Eve. She was released (four days after her sister) with a promise she would continue in a twice-weekly outpatient program (like her sister) thus she returned home ready to start _living_ again.

"Mother!" Draco spotted her from the doorway of Malfoy Manor. He and Hermione were headed to work, as usual. "Hermione! My mother!"

He ran to her the way he did when he was three, when she and Father finally returned from that holiday in Dubai. This time he was too big to be swept up in her arms, so he gathered her in his instead, hugging her tightly.

"Draco, you'd think you hadn't seen me in months!" She swatted at him to release her, but truthfully she loved this reception. Hermione followed him down the path to the gate, greeting Narcissa warmly.

"You're looking well," the younger witch said genuinely. Narcissa looked as though she'd been sleeping again and like she'd gained a bit of weight too, which she needed, as she'd begun to look emaciated again as of late.

They couldn't talk long, it was nearly time for work, and after they left Narcissa sent her Patronus to Severus to let him know she was back.

"That's odd," she said as the figure flew away. It hadn't been long-necked with long plumage and an impressive wingspan. It was not the peacock she'd been producing since Lucius taught her the skill shortly after the first fall of the Dark Lord. This one flew too, but it was smaller, with thin wings...

It was a bat.

A bloody _bat._

Putting it out of her mind (or trying to) she headed inside for a quick bite to eat, as she was starving (the food in rehab left something to be desired for witches with her refined palate). After the meal she continued on upstairs, ordered a house-elf to make tea and have it sent up to her bedroom in an hour. She'd just sunk into a hot bubble bath when there was a knock at the door.

"Narcissa?"

"Severus!" Her first instinct was to grab a towel and get out to greet him – he'd arrived much faster than anticipated – but she thought better of it, calling out, "You may enter."

"Are you...?" He stepped in. "Oh, you're having a bath."

"I just got in."

"I'll wait for you out here."

"Why wait?" She tilted down her chin and stared up at him with wide blue eyes, framed by mascara-darkened lashes. "You could join me."

He cocked an eyebrow, but a smile formed across his face.

Back at the Ministry, Hermione joined Draco for lunch at his desk.

"I'm too far behind to leave," he explained. "I've got to get this paperwork in today or it's late. Thanks for picking up take-away."

They were having chicken tikka masala from a little Muggle Indian place nearby that Arthur Weasley had turned him onto.

("Molly sends me in with a healthy lunch every day," he'd explained, voice low as if she might somehow be able to hear him from the Burrow. "But sometimes I'm in the mood for goat curry or chicken vindaloo.")

"Could I be honest, Hermione?"

"Of course." She cleared a spot on his desk to place her food. Across from her, he did the same.

"I don't think this job is for me."

"Draco..."

"Listen! It's not that I don't want to do anything at all. I don't need to return to Malfoy Manor to live off my family's money, but with my mother gone and you spending most nights at your parents', I've had a lot of time alone to think, and I feel there are more worthwhile possibilities."

He hadn't told Hermione, but he'd visited little Teddy in the Ministry daycare several times over two weeks that his aunt was in rehab with his mother. Reading that letter Andromeda shared about the denial of payout from the Auror Orphan Fund had cut him deeply. His parents escaped the first war relatively unscathed, but what if they hadn't? What if they'd met the same sticky end as Potter's parents, or, almost worst, Longbottom's? His aunt took Longbottom's parents away and she made an orphan of Teddy, too. And they must not be alone. If there was an Auror Orphan Fund, that must mean there were other orphaned children of Aurors out there. He started asking around and discovered there were dozens of children who'd lost parents during the Final Battle alone, and at least five who were left with neither a mother nor a father, to be raised by relatives or family friends.

He'd felt sick over it ever since.

He, at nineteen, was struggling with being away from his mother for two-and-a-half weeks, but these kids would never see their parents again... just as he'd never see his father again.

Three kids in particular tugged at his heartstrings. He came across two photographs of them while 'dropping by' a colleague's office (while they were out). These were the children of Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy professor at Hogwarts, who was hugging them in the first picture. Draco hadn't even known she had children, though of course he heard she'd died. He also hadn't known that her ex-husband, the children's father, was an Auror who'd been killed only a few minutes before she had. Now the three children were in an orphanage, outside which the second picture was taken.

The difference in their demeanor between the two moving images was heart-shattering. With their mother they were giggling and bright-eyed, even in black and white, and wiggly, as young kids tend to be. In the second, their eyes were wide and dull, their shoulders were slumped, and they couldn't look more miserable.

"Children shouldn't be in orphanages," he said. "They need homes. There must be something else the Ministry can do, other than leaving them... the Auror Orphan Fund provides very little money and doesn't do a damn thing for kids whose parents were just professors or, or working in other jobs. There has to be something else."

"You want to... help orphans?" She took a big bite of delicious chicken.

"I don't know." As much as he loved the food, he couldn't concentrate on the flavors, not when he was so eagerly anticipating her response, wondering if she'd think he was terrible to want to quit his job already or wonderful to want another path. "I want to do something more important, more meaningful, than writing reports about shrinking keys and Muggle mops charmed to fly like Quidditch brooms. And I hate knowing that... that my father and... the the wizards who were in and out of our home all the time, that they're the reason most of those children are orphans in the first place."

"I think finding a way to help war orphans would be incredible, Draco." She stood and leaned across the desk to place a quick peck on his lips, though her eyes then quickly darted toward the partially-open office door, hoping nobody witnessed this unprofessional action. He smiled.

Now, to figure out what he could possibly do. But there was no time left to think on it now. They hurriedly finished their lunch, kissed quickly, and agreed to see each other again when the work day was done.

Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor, Severus was enjoying his first-ever bubble bath. He had his back to the back of the claw foot tub and she was settled with her back against his chest, her head resting against his shoulder. He had one hand on her lower abdomen under the water and was brushing up and down the exposed part of her arm with the other. She twisted slightly to kiss his neck, right over the damn Nagini scar, and he sighed contentedly.

"Severus, if you could have anything in the whole entire world, what would you wish for?"

"I have everything in the whole entire world that I could wish for: you," he answered, glad Minerva and Albus weren't here to hear him say something so bloody romantic. They'd never let him live it down. "What about you?"

"I always wanted a daughter," she said. "But I could only have one child. And I'm happy with Draco. But sometimes... I don't want to rush him along in this relationship with Hermione Granger, but if they got married, they might have a baby, and it might be a girl, and I–"

"And you could have a granddaughter to spoil and dress up the way you would have a daughter?"

"Precisely." She hadn't had the best relationship with her own overbearing, alcoholic mother, but as a young bride she'd pictured herself the favorite friend of her little girl. Seeing Andromeda with Teddy made her think a granddaughter would be the next-best thing. They relaxed in the warm water in silence for awhile. She nearly fell asleep.

"A dog."

"Excuse me?"

"A dog," he repeated. "As a boy, I always wanted a dog. My home life was – well, you know how my home life was, I've told you – and I didn't have any friends until Lily, and I always thought I'd feel less... lonely... if I had a dog."

"I've never had a dog. What kind would you want?"

"My neighbor had a cocker spaniel. He was a couple of years older than I was and the dog followed him everywhere. I wanted one like that: cute, smart, soft... a constant companion." With a cheeky smile, he added, "But now I have you."

She smiled but rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I am nothing like a cocker spaniel. I am much cuter, much smarter, and unbelievably soft."

"And unlike a cocker spaniel, you don't have to be taken for walks on a leash."

"No," she said. "But we could try that sometime, if you're interested. I already have a studded collar."

He laughed, she chuckled, and then they sat in silence for a few moments, lost in thought. He was picturing her wearing a studded collar, but feeling guilty for being slightly excited by the notion. She was thinking about her next question.

"Do you want children, Severus?"

"No, if I need something small and high-voiced to make messes around my house, I'll buy a parrot. At least a parrot can be caged when it starts to become an annoyance."

"I'm serious! I'm... older than you are... and I could be a grandmother someday. Any day. Andromeda became a grandmother at my age. Don't you want a younger woman, one who could give you–"

He cut her off. "I want you and only you. I don't care if you become a grandmother and I don't care that you can't give me a child. I'm not asking you for one."

She tilted up her chin and stretched to place a kiss on his jaw. He turned his head to return the kiss, and they snogged for several minutes before she had to stop twisting her upper body in such an uncomfortable way, settling again with her back against his chest and her face turned toward his neck.

"It's New Year's Eve." He shifted, wondering if she could feel his erection against her lower back, brought on by just those few moments of kissing. "What shall we do tonight?"

"We have plans."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Do we?"

"I asked Draco this morning to watch Teddy for a few hours tonight. You and I are having dinner with my sister and her friend. When we return home, Draco and Hermione will go out, and you and I will put Teddy to bed here in the nursery and be on our own until morning." She placed her sudsy palm gently against his cheek and pulled him down for a kiss. "If that's alright."

"That's alright." He kissed her back as the hand on her hip slipped up until he was cupping her left breast. "It's been nearly a month since that morning on the couch," he murmured, his lips still touching hers. "That's a long time."

"Too long," she agreed.

"Far too long."

"Yes." She readjusted so that she was straddling him, as she'd done that morning on the couch. "Severus? I don't want you to hurt me. I love how gentle you are, the way you touch me as if I'm someone to be revered, the way you take your time when I'm not rushing you. I love you."

"I love you too, Narcissa."

They exited the tub and toweled off, but did not make it all the way to the bed. She sat on the edge of the counter between the porcelain double sinks wearing only her dressing gown and he took her there, pouring their emotions into each other by way of physical contact and whispered words of affection, through moans and growls and the crying out of each other's names, until, with a shudder, he finished inside her. After a few moments during which they simply held each other and got their breathing back to a steady pace, they retired to the bed, to take a nap and hold each other, both eager for the start of a brand new year.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thanks to lseult for the note about spirits/alcohol versus liquor (and for your reviews!). I went back to the last chapter and took out all the liquors. :)

To FrancineHibiscus, I feel the same way about Draco and Hermione at the moment, honestly. I'm working on getting their spark back and helping them grow into something more than what they are now over the next couple of chapters. I feel like I lost them a little as Narcissa and Severus have taken over. Thx!

lilicako, as usual, I LOVE your moment-by-moment reactions in your reviews and look forward to all of them! Thank you!

sassanech, Snowflake Dazzle, Banglabou, Little Witch1, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Honoria Granger, Chester99, Chelsea always, and Vani12, thank you all so, so much for your reviews! They keep me going when I'm afraid I'll run out of ideas or lose my path.

Thanks again! Only 5 chapters to go!

 **-AL**


	28. Growth

**STAGES OF GRIEF**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:**

 **GROWTH**

It turns out, outside of the structure and guidance of Ministry daycare, Teddy Tonks Lupin was quite the handful.

"No!" shouted Draco as Teddy pushed his tiny body against a tall pillar-like table on which a bust of his great-great-great-grandfather was displayed. Teddy paused. He stared at Draco, who stared back, and his hair went from pink to white-blond... just before he shoved his body against it again, knocking the century-old bronze bust to the floor, where the head separated from the shoulders.

"Oops!" yelled Teddy. "Is-a assident!"

"That was _not_ an accident! You did it on purpose and now you should be punished!" Draco glared down at him, trying to look tough, but the boy was not intimidated. On the contrary, he giggled.

"Stand in the corner!" Draco pointed to the nearest one. "And count to one-hundred!"

He had no idea how most parents (or babysitters) reprimanded children. As a boy, he rarely got in trouble, and when he did he'd receive a smack from his maternal grandmother or a stern word from his father and that was generally enough to correct his behavior, though in general "No" was not a word he'd heard often. Apparently, the same was not true for Teddy.

"No!" the toddler shouted. "No, no, no, no, no!" He laughed maniacally and ran around the room in wobbly circles, as if daring Draco to try and catch him.

"Reparo," Draco said instead, directing his wand at the bust, which fixed and righted itself on the table. He watched the boy run. Perhaps if he did it long enough, he'd get exhausted and fall asleep.

"What was that noise?" Hermione entered the sitting room with a tray of milk, tea, and biscuits. They'd already had dinner but Teddy had been promised a snack if he ate enough.

"Biscuit!" shouted Teddy, racing dizzily toward her. He smacked into her legs and fell on his bottom, which made him laugh harder.

"He's positively mad!" exclaimed Draco. "He reminds me of my aunt!"

"Andromeda?"

"Bellatrix!"

Hermione recoiled at the sound of the witch's name. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco. He's only a little boy. He doesn't mean any harm."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth that Teddy charged full-speed-ahead into the tall table, again knocking the bust to the floor. Again breaking off the head.

"Dayco says no!" Teddy shouted, obviously proud of himself for having disobeyed.

Draco looked to her and gestured, his body and face saying without words, "See what I mean?!" but she merely chuckled.

"He's testing you. He wants to see what he can get away with. Now Teddy, you stop that this instant, or no biscuits."

"I want biscuits."

"Then you apologize to Draco for breaking his bust."

"Sowwy bake a bust, Dayco," the almost-two-year-old said obediently. He hurried over to sit on the couch, which he could barely climb onto unassisted, and awaited his chocolate biscuits. Draco repaired the bust for a second time.

"Harry warned me he has a lot of energy," Hermione informed Draco as she set the tray down on the low table. "He suggested taking him outside and playing games that involve a lot of running."

"It's dark and snowing."

"So we'll bundle him up first and use Lumos to light our way. Maybe we can build a snowman. Would you like to build a snowman, Teddy?"

"Snowman!"

"That's it, then." Hermione handed him a biscuit before taking one for herself, leaving Draco to get his own. He flopped into a chair opposite them on the couch. They'd only had the child for ninety minutes and were already exhausted. Another ninety minutes to go. How did parents manage this all the time, day in and day out? _This must be why they hire nannies and have house-elves,_ thought Draco.

After snack, they did as Hermione suggested and bundled up the boy, also using a warming charm inside his coat and mittens, then they pulled on their own winter attire and headed outside in the dark. Teddy loved being out after nightfall and quickly threw himself face-first into a snow bank, arms stretched out to make a snow angel.

"You're supposed to be on your back to do it," Draco corrected, lifting the boy around the middle. He set him down and knelt beside him. "Watch me."

Draco fell onto his back, arms and legs stretched straight out, and moved his limbs to create the familiar shape. Beside him, Teddy did the same, after which they stood back to admire their handiwork.

"Snow snow snow!" shouted Teddy delightedly. He ran around the two indentations in a circle, leaving boot prints and a couple of small craters whenever he lost his balance and landed on his bum. Meanwhile Hermione was rolling balls for a snowman.

"Look, Teddy! We can build a snow family!" she said once she had nine rolled. She, Teddy, and Draco worked together to build the bodies, complete with carrot noses and sticks for arms. They sat back and let Teddy add scarves and hats, coal lumps for eyes, and buttons in curved rows to represent smiling mouths.

"He's cute when he's not destructive," Draco whispered, afraid if he complimented the child too loudly it would backfire.

"We should introduce him to my brother and sister. They're not that far apart in age. The three of them can be sweet and exhausting and obnoxious together."

When Teddy finished, he turned around with a triumphant grin on his face. He'd chosen the pink hat for the middle-sized snowman, the furry hat for the largest, and the little green hat for the small.

"They're lovely!" exclaimed Hermione. "Is one of them Teddy?"

"Teddy," said Teddy, pointing to the smallest one. He then touched the middle ball of the mid-sized one. "Mumma."

"That's your mother?" Hermione melted inside. Surely he couldn't remember her, but he must have seen photographs.

"Mumma, Dad, Teddy," confirmed the boy, touching each one in turn. He wrapped his arms around the middle one, hugging it tightly, not even noticing that he knocked off one of the stick arms. "Teddy's Mumma, all gone."

"Oh, Teddy," Hermione started, moving toward him. Draco stopped her.

"Let me."

He crouched down beside the boy.

"You miss your mum?"

Teddy nodded. He patted the mother snowperson's belly. "Miss Mumma, all gone."

"My father's all gone," said Draco, touching the shoulder of the largest one. "Just like your father."

"Dayco's dad, all gone?"

"Yes. My dad is all gone, like your dad and mum. It makes me feel sad because I miss him. Do you feel sad?"

Hermione felt her nose tingling. She pressed her mittens to her cheeks, trying not to cry, knowing in this cold the tears would turn to ice before they managed to drip off her eyelashes.

"Sad." Teddy wrapped his arms comfortingly around Draco. "Dayco's no dad, Teddy's no dad, Teddy's no mumma. Dayco's mumma?"

"Yes, you know my moth... my mumma. Your Auntie Cissy is my mumma. And my Auntie Andromeda is your nana."

"Want Nana," said Teddy. He sniffled. Draco lifted him, holding the boy against his chest in a tight hug. "Want Mumma. Want Dad."

"I want my father back too," said Draco softly. "But your nana is coming to get you in the morning, alright?"

"Mumma mornin'?"

"No." Draco couldn't help picturing the three children of Professor Sinistra in front of their orphanage, looking positively broken. He tried to remember what the book had said about helping children through grief, but he'd merely skimmed those pages, not considering himself a child. "Mumma's not coming back. She's gone forever... but you keep her in here." He touched the center of Teddy's chest.

"In-a jumpah?" The boy looked confused, probably envisioning his mother hiding inside his clothes. Draco chuckled.

"No, in your heart! You keep her in your heart, where I keep my father. It's... you'll understand that better when you're bigger."

"Me bigger." Teddy wriggled to get down. He held up five fingers. "Teddy this many!"

"No, you're not!" Hermione smiled, holding up one finger. "You're this many..." She added a second. "And almost this many."

"No!" Teddy glowered at her, still holding up five. "THIS MANY."

"Let him be that many," said Draco, before Hermione could open her mouth to argue with the toddler again. "It's not like if you don't correct him now he'll spend his whole life confused about how old he is."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes. Draco sounded like her mother, who was always telling her not to try so hard to educate her twin brother and sister, reminding her they were still small and would learn in their own time.

They played outside awhile longer, having a snowball fight (Boys against Girl) and riding together on Draco's old Quidditch broom ("Not too high!" at the request of Hermione on the ground) before tired Teddy wanted to go back in.

They dried off and warmed up, and no sooner had they settled in front of the library fire with a pile of picture books, Narcissa and Severus returned.

Narcissa and Severus had had a perfectly lovely evening with Andromeda and her friend Barnaby, who turned out to be a charming, witty fellow and an engaging storyteller. Though he wasn't Narcissa's type, she could understand what her sister saw in him... and she couldn't help noticing that Andromeda's eyes practically sparkled whenever he sent a smile in her direction. The two were headed back to his house to relieve his sitter – though while in rehab Andromeda told Narcissa she was hoping he would ask her to stay the night.

After Draco and Hermione departed to ring in the New Year with Neville, Luna, Goyle, and Goyle's girlfriend Ambrosia Carrow, Narcissa and Severus settled on the floor to read to Teddy, who was already getting sleepy.

First Narcissa read him the rhyming story of Wally, the Weirdest Wizard, then Severus picked up Tales of Beedle the Bard and read from The Tale of the Three Brothers. Teddy was asleep in his great-aunt's arms before the second brother was taken by Death, but Severus read on at Narcissa's request, until the third brother removed his cloak and greeted Death as an old friend.

"I love listening to you read," she whispered. He stood and lifted Teddy so she could get up too, then carried him down the hall to the nursery, which Narcissa had house-elves clean and prepare earlier in the day, after her nap with Severus. She instructed one to remain in Teddy's room in case he awoke and to summon her immediately if he did.

Then she and Severus returned to the library, where they cuddled on the couch, warmed by the fire. They talked for hours, and shortly before midnight, she had another house-elf bring them champagne flutes filled with butterbeer, then they counted down the seconds to midnight.

"I don't even miss alcohol," she said as they clinked their classes together. "To the New Year?"

"To the New Year," he echoed. They sipped.

"To a better year." She set down her glass and snuggled against his side. "You should consider buying that old man's apothecary in Diagon Alley instead of having yours be mail-order only. You could hire staff, focus on the brewing, and have the market cornered. I wouldn't mind investing in it."

This was her way of telling him she would be willing to pay for the space, but knowing he wouldn't accept it as a gift.

"It's worth the consideration," he said agreeably.

They went to bed shortly thereafter, though she checked on Teddy first. The little boy slept through the night, which meant she and Severus could too, though they made love before succumbing to sleep.

Draco and Hermione returned home around three in the morning, slightly tipsy (she hadn't said he couldn't imbibe a bit when out, since he didn't actually share his aunt and mother's addiction) and they collapsed into bed exhausted, still dressed.

They undressed upon waking in the morning, during which they rang in the New Year by kissing and exploring and pleasuring each other, after which she pleasantly surprised him by asking if she could move back into Malfoy Manor.

The elation was short-lived, however, as she quickly informed him she intended to return to her own room... if that would be alright.

"I still think we aren't quite emotionally prepared for the significant commitment of co-inhabitation," she said, sounding too much like a professor for his taste, but he reluctantly concurred. It would be enough to have her close by, he figured, and they could discuss the next step in the future.

On the ninth of January, Severus Snape turned forty. He and Narcissa went out for an upscale (alcohol-free) dinner at a restaurant of his choosing, then they attended a play at a local theatre.

"I've never seen one before," said Narcissa, who'd purchased the tickets because Minerva McGonagall had told her it might be a good idea when she wrote to ask the Headmistress what might be a good surprise for him. At first Narcissa had trouble following the plot on account of the strangely structured dialogue, but as she got used to iambic pentameter she started to become engrossed in the story, eventually no longer hung up on the elevated language of this playwright named Shakespeare.

She cried at the end, which Severus teased her about later, but he'd been moved, too. How could one not be? There was a reason Romeo & Juliet withstood the test of time.

When they returned to Malfoy Manor, she informed a house-elf she wanted Severus' gift to be ready in her bedroom before they arrived there. Puzzled, he hurried out of his winter cloak and helped her off with hers.

When they entered her bedroom, it was to find a large box on the floor by the end of the bed, one wrapped in silver paper with a huge green bow on top.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Generally one has to open his or her gift in order to answer that question," she replied. She tapped the top of the box. "Go on, now."

He did not waste time. Crouched down, he used his wand to cut the ribbon and lifted the top off the box, only to promptly end up with a wet face.

Wet, from the excited tongue of a puppy on her hind legs, sticking her head out of the box.

"It's a cocker spaniel!"

"Excellent deduction skills," Narcissa teased. "Do you like her?"

But Severus couldn't answer the question because he was cuddling the puppy in his arms, letting it consider its wet assault of his face while its tail wagged wildly.

"I think she likes you," said Narcissa.

"I'll call her Biscuit. No, Duchess. No, Freckles. Bubbles. Cricket."

"Those are embarrassingly adorable names," said Narcissa. "What sort of soft-hearted Slytherin are you? Duchess is the only option that affords the poor bitch any degree of dignity."

"Duchess, then." He scratched behind her ears and kissed the top of her head. The puppy hopped around happily, as energetic as Teddy after a sugar fix. "Who loves Duchess?" he asked the puppy. "I love Duchess!"

"Have I broken you?" Narcissa sat on the edge of the bed so he was on the floor at her feet. "Have you gone mental?"

But she was pleased.

A couple of hours later, after taking the dog for a walk, setting up a space for it (water bowl, food, space for it to piddle in case it couldn't 'hold it' and a small toy bin) Narcissa removed a fluffy brown dog bed from the box and set it on the floor on the side of the bed Severus' had claimed, formerly her side, as she slept where Lucius used to.

"She doesn't like it in her bed," Severus said, leaning over the edge to scratch her head after Narcissa turned out the lights.

"I have one rule about your dog, Severus, and that rule is what?"

"She can't sleep in the bed," he answered. She'd already made this abundantly clear. "But she's so far away on the floor."

"She's fine. She's a dog." She wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Cuddle me."

"But Duchess needs..."

"I can send her back to the puppy place if she's getting all the attention that used to be mine." She wouldn't do this, of course, but the threat worked. He rolled onto his back, pulled her close, and kept one arm around her as she dozed off.

Though with the other hand, he was still petting the cocker spaniel.

The next morning, Narcissa awoke to find something very furry snuggled up in the center of the bed. She opened her eyes to catch Duchess staring at her, head cocked to one side, pink tongue hanging out, almost like she was grinning triumphantly.

"Severus Snape." She shook him awake, leaning over the puppy to do so. "How did the little bitch get into this bed? I know she didn't climb up herself. It's too high and she's too small."

"I'm sorry." He leaned over to kiss Narcissa good morning. "You were asleep and she was scared all alone on the floor. It's only for the night. The first night. Last night. Tonight, she'll sleep in her dog bed."

Five weeks later, Valentine's Day, Narcissa again awoke to find the puppy in bed with them. But this time, it did not surprise her.

Because the damn thing had fallen asleep curled up with them every night since Severus' birthday.

And while she still gave him a hard time about it, she'd grown to love the goofy little fluffy-eared inconvenience.

However, she insisted it be on the floor (or better yet, locked in the loo) whenever they were intimate. She simply couldn't get in the mood knowing the damn thing was staring at her, tail wagging, waiting for them to be done so it could squeeze between them for pets.

The only one in Malfoy Manor completely unhappy with the addition of a puppy into the mix was Crookshanks. He traded off between sleeping with Draco and sleeping with Hermione (or both of them, when they spent the night together) and during the days he generally tried to fend off the loathesome creature, which seemed hell-bent on befriending him no matter how much he hissed and swatted.

Hermione and Draco intended to go out for Valentine's Day as they had the year before, but this time they would be double-dating – with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley.

"She promises it won't be like last time," Hermione assured him. "And if it is, we'll leave. I already told Harry if she's being rude to you, we'll leave."

Draco went into this double-date with an even greater sense of trepidation than he had the previous one, but Hermione repeatedly promised him it would be better. She went to her own bedroom to get ready and when the two met in the hall to depart, Draco was momentarily stopped in his tracks, unable to breathe.

He was attracted to her in anything, of course, but tonight she was particularly stunning. He almost wanted to suggest sending a picture of her to the Daily Prophet reporter who questioned why good-looking imbecile Draco would be dating brilliant but plain-faced swot Hermione. She was wearing a dark red cocktail dress, tight, which stopped at her mid-thigh. Her legs were covered by black stockings and she wore a heel higher than he'd ever seen her in. Her breasts were just slightly spilling out of the deep-v of the neck and she wore a diamond necklace he couldn't have imagined she'd even own, which matched teardrop earrings. Her hair was swept to one side, lightly curled, and her makeup was subtle – a smoky eye and glossy lips and nothing else. She looked... grown up.

He was dressed well too, of course, in Muggle attire, since they were going to a Muggle establishment (hoping they'd be less likely to be spotted by paparazzi there than at Stargazer in Diagon Alley). He had his hair tied back in a low ponytail.

"You look incredible," he breathed.

"Thank you." She tugged the hem of the dress. "I've never been so uncomfortable in anything in all my life."

She didn't confess this, but his mother had actually chosen her entire ensemble during a shopping trip the day before. It happened while he was meeting with Minerva McGonagall, hoping to learn more about Professor Sinistra's three children. Narcissa insisted upon purchasing multiple outfits for Hermione, including four new sets of witch's robes, one dress robe, three cocktail dresses, and two pairs of high-heeled shoes.

"I don't mean to offend you, dear, but you have horrible taste," Narcissa had said, looking over Hermione discerningly. The younger witch was wearing her favorite plaid shirt and jeans with green trainers, her frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail. She thought she looked fine. Narcissa, clearly, did not agree.

"Let me fix you."

Hermione tried to be flattered by the attention rather than insulted, and to her surprise, she'd actually ended up having a rather nice afternoon. It reminded her of childhood back-to-school shopping trips with her own mother, who no longer had time for such things between her dental practice and caring for the twins almost on her own (Hermione's father wasn't around much as of late). Narcissa had also treated for lunch at a small place on Knockturn Alley, during which Severus Snape joined them.

This had been a little awkward for Hermione, lunch with the Malfoy matriarch and potions professor without Draco, but Snape carried the conversation with updates about his planned apothecary practice and negotiations with the proprietor of the one in Diagon Alley. He talked about the different variations of currently existing programs he wished to brew and his desire to have more time to develop new ones.

"I shall have to hire a shop girl to run the front and at least two apprentices to help with the brewing so I can focus on experimentation." He glanced at Hermione. "Do you know anyone adept in the field of potion-making who might also be seeking employment?"

 _"Me!"_ Hermione almost answered. She was growing to hate her Ministry job, Obliviating Muggles day-in and day-out, each time a reminder of what she'd done to her poor parents, but it seemed unlikely she'd be moving up any time soon. Instead, she replied, "I may. I could ask around."

"Not yet," he said. "I have not reached that particular stage. But thank you."

It was during pudding Hermione finally figured out why Narcissa was being so nice to her. As a Slytherin, of course the woman had ulterior motives.

"So, dear, have you given any thought to your future... with Draco? He's a lovely boy, isn't he? Intelligent, attractive, hard-working, personable, of good breeding, well-off..."

"He's... very nice," Hermione said, trying not to let suspicion creep into her voice.

"He _is_ very nice," Narcissa agreed. "And he needs someone equally nice with whom he can settle down. He's going to be twenty this year. You're already twenty, aren't you?"

"Er... yes."

"Twenty is a wonderful age. Twenty through twenty-five. Those are your best years. Your best years for childbearing, in particular. Not that you need to be thinking about childbearing. I mean, you aren't even married... but after twenty-five, it gets more difficult to–"

"Narcissa!" snapped Severus Snape in a sharp tone. "You'll scare the girl off. Let her alone."

"What?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes at him. "I am _not_ trying to frighten her; I'm merely ensuring she understands that–"

"Just because I have a dog doesn't mean you should have a granddaughter," he said.

Hermione's face screwed up in bemusement. What could one have to do with the other? And wait! Did he say _granddaughter_? This is why Narcissa was being so nice to her? She wanted her to marry Draco so she could have a _granddaughter?_ Hermione felt her cheeks go hot and pink. She wasn't even certain she wanted children _ever,_ never mind in the near future!

"I do not intend to rush the two of you." Narcissa patted Hermione's arm. "I only want Hermione here to know that if she and Draco think they might wish to grow their relationship into one with clearer commitment, I shall give them my blessing. Is that so bad?"

"You're lying about not intending to rush them." Severus regarded his lover with the same stern expression he'd often worn when addressing misbehaving students. Finally, after an awkward pause during which Hermione tried not to shuffle too much in her seat, Narcissa sighed.

"Fine. I _am_ trying to rush them. But Miss Granger is a headstrong, independent woman who cannot be easily swayed into doing anything she does not want to, thus I don't see the harm in letting her know that I approve. I'll drop it now. Alright?"

"Very well," said Severus, apparently satisfied. He turned to Hermione. "Draco aside, have you given consideration to how you wish to spend the rest of your life from an employment standpoint? Is a Ministry law enforcement career your ultimate goal? You are an intelligent young woman - one I unfairly dubbed an 'insufferable know-it-all' years ago, for which I apologize - and it would be a shame to see you languish in your current position indefinitely. If they refuse to recognize your talents and abilities, it may behoove you to begin seeking a position elsewhere, perhaps doing something more academically inclined. Completely unrelated, what did you receive in your Potions O.W.L.?"

"You're as bad as I am!" scolded Narcissa. "All I want to do is marry her off to my son; you're trying to use her to build your business!"

"My offer is in her best interest! She could benefit from a worthwhile career that allows her to capitalize on her natural abilities. Your future for the girl will saddle her with swollen ankles, sleepless nights, and five-plus years of having small, sticky fingerprints all over her person! Mine would bring professional prestige, a suitable income, and room to grow!"

By this point, Hermione's head was swimming. Professor Snape wanted to employ her and Narcissa Malfoy wanted to see her 'with child.' Both were too much to think about in the moment (though she'd absolutely choose the former over the latter!)

Thankfully, though, an interruption came in the form of Andromeda's arrival. She had Teddy on her hip, as usual, and looked exhausted... as usual.

"I saw that vulture Rita Skeeter skulking about in the alley, glanced through the window and saw you. I hissed at her and she disapparated, the coward. Where's Draco?"

"Out," answered Narcissa. "What are you doing in Knockturn Alley?"

"Needed to pick up a few things but someone isn't complying." She nodded toward squirming Teddy. "I'm glad I found you, honestly. I could use your... advice. In private."

Hermione jumped up and offered to take the toddler off her hands for awhile.

"I'll play with him, we'll have a snack, and I'll Floo him home to you later!"

"That would be lovely, thank you!" Andromeda handed him over. She and Narcissa departed moments later, leaving Hermione briefly alone with Severus, who'd offered to stay and pay the tab and meet Narcissa back at Malfoy Manor later. The former headmaster and Gryffindor prefect exited the restaurant together with Teddy toddling merrily between them.

"Sir, since you're... since you're here... Could I ask a question?" Hermione turned to her former professor, going even pinker than she'd been during lunch.

"You may."

"Do you brew... could you brew... would you brew..." She glanced down at Teddy, bit her lip, and started over. "I don't want to make her a grandmother any time soon and we don't trust the Diagon Alley apothecary after what happened to George Weasley and Angelina Johnson."

Severus looked momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered. He, too, glanced down at Teddy as he replied in a low tone, "I shall brew what you need and have it to Draco by the end of the week. Each dosage lasts twelve hours and each batch is good for a month." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Have a pleasant afternoon."

"You too, sir."

As she watched him hurry away she felt half-mortified, half-amused by the fact she'd managed to rattle him without even uttering the words 'contraception.'

Now it was Valentine's Day night, she looked delectable in Draco's eyes, and she felt more than a little out of her element.

They met Harry and Ginny outside Duck & Waffle. Hermione laughed and squeezed Draco's hand.

"You didn't tell me we were coming back here!"

It was the restaurant he'd taken her to last Valentine's Day, which they'd both thoroughly enjoyed.

"When you told me I got to pick the place..." He shrugged. "I told Potter when I ran into him in the Ministry lift and he said it would do."

"Hermione!" exclaimed Harry, spotting them. He rushed over with Ginny trailing slightly behind. He hugged Hermione and shook Draco's hand.

"Potter," said Draco. He held out his hand a second time. "Miss Weasley."

"Ginny," she said, shaking his hand. "This looks like a nice place."

"It is!" confirmed Hermione. "You'll love it. Let's go inside."

Once they were settled with drinks and had ordered starters, they engaged in all the usual basic conversations. Each gave a little information about his or her job, they discussed the weather (snowy, wet, cold, gray), and everyone but Hermione talked about Quidditch for awhile, though she didn't mind just listening.

During their entrees, the conversation turned to Teddy.

"He's the sweetest boy!" said Hermione. "A handful, though."

"That's an understatement!" said Draco. "Last time we watched him he literally ran circles around me for an hour laughing about Merlin-only-knows-what."

Ginny told a story about how he managed to use 'unintentional' magic to levitate himself onto the counter to get to a tin of biscuits she'd put up high at Grimmauld Place.

"I had only left the room for a second because George was at the door! When I returned biscuits were all over the floor, Teddy was standing in the sink, the water was on for some reason, and everything was soaked or covered in crumbs or both!"

It wasn't until pudding that conversation took a more serious turn.

"I've been speaking with Professor McGonagall and a few connections through the Ministry," said Draco, tucking into the Baked Alaska he and Hermione had opted to share. "Trying to determine what can be done for war orphans. Ministry payouts to those whose parents were Aurors and pensions from parents' jobs are not enough, especially when there are at least seven such children now living in orphanages, including Professor Sinistra's three."

"Professor Sinistra had children?" Ginny glanced quizzically at Harry, who shrugged.

"Yes," said Draco. "Ten-year-old twins and a five-year-old."

"Five?" Now Harry was looking quizzically at Ginny. "So she had a baby while we were at Hogwarts?"

"The summer after third year," said Hermione. "Didn't you notice how huge she got?"

"I thought it would be rude to notice," he said. "Women don't like you noticing when they get fat."

"I didn't notice," said Ginny. "It was dark in her classes. We were always looking to the stars. How was I supposed to know she was pregnant?"

"Honestly, I knew nothing of it until I came across the information," said Draco with a shrug. "I didn't look that closely at her."

"You three are as bad as Ronald! I'll wager he didn't notice either!"

"Did _you?"_ asked Ginny.

"Yes." Hermione tossed her side-swept hair over her shoulder. "I gave her a knitted cap for the baby when we returned fourth year. It was one of my first, before I started leaving them for house-elves."

"Poor house-elves," muttered Ginny under her breath. "And poor baby!"

Harry sniggered. Draco smirked.

"She said the baby loved it!"

"In September, the twins will be at Hogwarts," Draco said, placing a gentle hand on Hermione's knee. "They'll turn eleven in June. But the little one will have another five years in that orphanage without them while they're at school, unless something is done."

"What do you suggest?" asked Ginny as she speared a bite of Harry's dessert.

"They need _homes._ We need to find a way to... to find homes, instead of Muggle orphanages. There are wizarding families who would be willing to take in extra children but can't afford it, so we could help. Some sort of assistance program. Or, if that's impossible, we could create a small year-round boarding school specifically for young witches and wizards who've lost their parents, and assign them Houses, like Hogwarts, but instead prefects they'll have a House Mother and a House Father, and they'll have teachers. Kids like Teddy would be invited too, but they could go home during holidays and the summer. It would give them a leg up, a sense of community... I was home-schooled before Hogwarts. I had tutors for various subjects because my parents wanted me to be ready before I arrived. Sometimes, Blaise, Goyle, and Theodore Nott would come over for lessons with me. Our parents all used the same tutors."

"Mum home-schooled us too," said Ginny. "But no tutors. She taught us reading, writing, math, geography, and the basics of spell work, though we weren't allowed wands yet. I guess you two never got that." She glanced from Harry to Hermione. Both nodded.

"Public school," said Hermione.

"Wish there'd been a place to go that wasn't with my aunt and uncle," added Harry.

Draco nodded. "I don't know yet what should be done exactly, but I know there should be something for those seven at the very least. Sinistra's three are in one home, Violet and Victor Vance are in another, and two unrelated children, Colin Cresswell and Joshua Flexson, Junior are in a third. All dismal Muggle places where they don't fit in. All places no child deserves to be stuck in."

"How old are they?" asked Ginny. "These four others?"

Draco closed his eyes, mentally reading down the list he'd recently made.

"Violet Vance is eleven, set for Hogwarts this fall. Victor is nine. Colin Creswell is three and Joshua Flexson is six. Cresswell has an older son too, but from a previous marriage, so that boy lives with his mother. Little Colin's mother was murdered a week before the Final Battle... by my aunt, Bellatrix. For sport."

No one commented on this, though the way Ginny shook her head, Hermione knew she was feeling guilty for having doubted his reformation and goaded him into a fight the last time they were together.

"What were Professor Sinistra's children named?" asked Harry gently, feeling bad about not having known they existed, or were orphaned. So many had died in teh Final Battle and throughout the rest of the war it was difficult to keep track.

"The twins are Soleil and Luna – like the Lovegood girl – and the little one is Rigel. I visited their orphanage last week, pretending like I had an expectant girlfriend and we weren't sure we could raise a baby. The matron was nice enough, but the place was threadbare and depressing. No one smiled or played. It felt like a children's Azkaban."

"You've put a lot of thought and research into this," said Harry, looking impressed. "If you're interested, we could talk about it more one day this week at lunch. I could come to your office. I'd like to help."

"Thanks," said Draco. Hermione couldn't help beaming. It didn't appear the two would become fast-friends, but having a common goal was a good start to repairing the dismal relations between the two that started forming when they met on the train on the first of September, 1991.

After saying goodnight to Harry and Ginny, Hermione and Draco were not ready to call it a night. They stopped in a place that had live music to listen for awhile, but it wasn't to either of their taste, so they found a coffee shop open late and ducked in there, eager to escape the cold.

"Dinner went well, don't you think?" Hermione kissed him on the cheek after he settled beside her on a soft bench, placing coffees in front of them on the table.

"Not as bad as it could have been." He nudged her shoulder with his. "Mother told me she took you out yesterday. Was it torture?"

Hermione chuckled. "No, but she chose this entire ensemble with the hope that it would appeal to you sexually. So, does it? Appeal to you sexually?"

"It did until you told me my mother picked it out!" He grimaced with disgust. "What's wrong with her?"

"You should see the lingerie she selected to go under it," teased Hermione. Draco's eyes widened.

"I... no! Or... yes. I don't know! I can't look at you in lingerie and be thinking of my mother!"

Hermione couldn't hold back an undignified snort that broke apart into laughter.

"It's not funny!"

"Relax! She didn't buy my lingerie. _I_ did. Picked it out and paid for it myself with you in mind." Perhaps it was the short, tight dress, or the fact that the evening had gone so well, or that she just couldn't stop mentally making note of how handsome he looked, but she was feeling much more giggly and giddy and girly than usual.

They did not stay too long at the coffee shop, and as soon as they were in a safe space in which to do so, they apparated back to Malfoy Manor, where they made the unspoken agreement to spend the night together in his room.

When she started to remove her dress, he requested she let him do the honors instead, and took his time unzipping the back. From behind, he gently pushed it off her shoulders and down, letting it pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, still wearing those new strappy high-heels (which had been killing her ankles all bloody night, frankly) and smiled when she felt his arms making their way around her waist. He kissed from her shoulder up her neck to her cheek, and already she could feel the evidence of his erection growing against her lower back.

"I like this," he said, fondling her breast over a brand new black lace bra, the most 'grown up' underwear she'd ever bought. It came with matching knickers, though she felt they were perhaps too delicate and rich to even be called 'knickers,' and the stockings only went to her thighs, making her feel very much like one of the sex-kitten heroines in those tawdry romance novels her mother loved so much.

He took great care and time divesting her of the undergarments and when he guided her onto the bed, she was wearing only the stockings and high-heeled shoes.

He, however, was most definitely overdressed.

She began unbuttoning his shirt as he kissed her and moaned when the bare flesh of his chest pressed against hers. He was just starting to grow chest hair, which almost made her giggle when she brushed against it. It was so pale blond and thin one could almost miss it, even up close, but it was there. She also helped to remove his suit trousers and pants, and since he'd already kicked off his socks and shoes, this left him naked and grinding on top of her.

He placed a trail of tender kisses from her lips, down her throat, between her breasts, over her abdomen, and all the way to her sex, where his tongue flicked and massaged her intimately until she was clutching the sheets and crying out, aching and wet and desperate for him.

He did not wait for her to return the favor. He moved back up, positioned himself at her entrance, and, upon her request, began to move inside her.

"Professor Snape is brewing us the contraceptive potion," she said as he thrust, realizing she'd forgotten to tell him yesterday.

"Excellent," said Draco. "But I'd rather not think of Professor Snape just now, thanks."

"Sorry." She guided his mouth to hers as they found a rhythm. She wondered if sex with all men felt this good, or if it was only him, if he was the only one she'd ever enjoy it with. Ginny had told her once it's only good if you really care about the other person, explaining that it had been a mistake to do 'it' with Michael Corner, even though it was only once, and though she'd enjoyed the experiences with Dean Thomas she much preferred being with Harry. Hermione had cut her off then, though, not wanting to think of Harry in that way.

"I love you, Hermione." Draco was aware that he was more in love with her than she was with him, and he tried not to let on that it hurt. "I want to be with you forever."

"Forever is a long, long time," Hermione replied. Catching his slightly crestfallen face, she quickly brushed back his hair, made eye contact, and said without question, "I love you, too, Draco. I really do. But I'm sorry, I don't want to have a baby right now."

"A baby?" He ceased movement. "Who wants a baby? I don't want a baby! I can hardly handle Teddy!"

"Your mother!" Hermione wrapped her arms around his back, holding him flush against her. "Didn't you know? Your mother wants us to make her a grandmother. She told me–"

"What? No! I mean, someday... if you want to... but I'm nineteen!"

"She says I've recently entered my best childbearing years. She gave me her blessing and encouragement to speed things up."

"This is the worst mid-sex conversation I can imagine." He looked slightly stunned. "First Snape and the contraception, and now my mother and babies."

"I'm sorry!" Hermione kissed the corner of his lips. "Let's not think about it. Let's just enjoy... each other. And the moment."

"Alright." He resumed, but he was clearly stuck in his own head, and after a few moments he pulled out and flopped onto his back. "I don't want a baby."

"Neither do I! I want a career. I need time to build a career. I can't focus entirely on that if I also have to focus on motherhood."

"I want to enjoy life. We lost years during the war. I want to be happy before I have to worry about keeping a baby happy."

"So no babies?"

"No babies."

"That's a relief." Hermione flung her arms over her face, muffling her voice. "There was a tiny part of me that was terrified you'd put her up to pressuring me. I'm sorry."

"I would never. She's psychotic. And meddlesome. When can Snape get us that potion?"

"He says it takes time to brew and he'll have it by the end of the week. I was surprised it would be that long, frankly." Hermione uncovered her face and rolled onto her side, cuddling up against Draco. "I'd assumed he could give us some of what he already brews for your mother."

"That's a revolting thought. Besides, she doesn't need it. They've only had sex that one disastrous time I nearly walked in and that's it. It was a mistake not to be repeated."

"You can't possibly believe that! They spend nearly every night together!"

"I have to believe that," said Draco. He sat up and bent down to remove Hermione's heels and stockings, an action that, for some reason, made her stomach flutter wildly.

"If I didn't tell myself there's nothing physical going on between them..." he continued as he relaxed back down beside her. "I'd need to Obliviate myself several times per day."

Hermione smiled, kissed his cheek, and rested her head on his shoulder. While 'the mood' was gone, she still intended to stay the night in his bed. He put an arm around her, used his wand to Nox the lights, and shortly thereafter, they fell asleep.

When they awoke the next morning, Draco kicked Crookshanks off the bed, Hermione crawled on top of him, and the two made up for the night before.

February gave way to March and March to April, during which time Draco doubled down on trying to come up with a better solution for those seven war orphans with the Ministry's support while Hermione mulled over Severus Snape's offer to work in his apothecary. He managed to buy the one in Diagon Alley as Narcissa suggested (with her financial backing) and he intended to host a Grand Reopening no later than July, in time for students, parents, and professors shopping for the next school year. If she was going to take the job, she had to decide soon.

Soon, Easter was nearly upon them.

All seemed well.

But someone living within Malfoy Manor was concealing a life-altering secret.

And that someone was scared.


	29. Rebirth

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:**

 **REBIRTH**

"It was the night before Easter, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even..."

"Isn't that a Christmas poem?" asked Hermione, entering the library where Teddy was asleep leaning against Narcissa on the couch. She had an open photo album in front of them, as she'd been showing the two-year-old pictures of "Dayco" at his age.

"Is it?"

"It's a Muggle Christmas poem." Hermione spoke in a quieter voice now that she'd spotted the sleeping toddler. "I'm surprised you know it."

"As I am," Narcissa whispered back. "Surprised to learn it's by a Muggle, that is. My mother used to recite those lines to us the night before every holiday to remind us if we didn't stay in our beds the holiday wouldn't happen. Bella once slipped out to shake the presents under the tree. She thought she'd gotten away with it but the next morning all of her gifts were gone. All she received was a book called The Witch Who Couldn't Wait, a picture book about a naughty witch getting into trouble on account of her impatience. I think I was around four, which would have made Bella eight. She was furious and cried all day and all night. I think it permanently ruined Christmas for her."

Hermione winced, almost _(almost)_ feeling a twinge of sympathy for Bellatrix Black, age eight.

"Care to see?" Narcissa held up the album and patted the couch to her other side. Though she felt the tiniest bit uncomfortable, Hermione settled beside her.

"Draco was a wonderful toddler. We spoiled him, which must come as no surprise to you, but he wasn't one of those rotten whiny little beasts you see throwing temper tantrums at the sweet shop. He loved to copy Lucius. He wanted to sit like Lucius, talk like Lucius, walk like Lucius, order around the house-elves like Lucius... He even used a toy Quidditch broom like a walking stick for an entire year, starting around age three... I think I have a picture... here, see?"

There was Lucius Malfoy, standing in the now-forbidden Drawing Room of Malfoy Manor, which looked to be decorated for a lavish party. He was wearing light-colored dress robes (hard to discern the exact color from a black and white photograph) and was surveying the room with a cool nod, his hand on the snake head of his walking stick. Beside him, tiny Draco's Quidditch broom was bristles up, his hair was pulled back like his father's, and he, too, wore dress robes. Hermione couldn't help cooing over him. She'd never seen toddler dress robes before! Draco was glancing up at his father, then jutting up his own chin, clearly trying to look the same.

"He's adorable!" whispered Hermione. She glanced at blue-haired Teddy, wondering whether she and Narcissa could convince Andromeda to bring him to Draco's upcoming fundraising gala for the orphans in a little dress robe.

"Look at these." Narcissa tossed the book, which hovered in the air for a brief pause before floating to its spot on a shelf, and opened the one that had been under it. _Christmas 1979 - Christmas 1980_ was burned into the leather cover.

"This is the very first picture in which Draco appears," said Narcissa softly, touching a moving image of herself and Lucius standing in front of an ornately decorated Christmas tree. "It was Christmas Eve. I'd just found out I was expecting but we hadn't told anyone yet, so for an entire day it felt like our wonderful little secret. We informed both his family and mine the following evening, after the feast here at Malfoy Manor. My parents were present, as were his, of course, and my sister Bella and her husband and both his brothers, Rodolphus and Reinald - Reinald was killed by Mad-Eye Moody a few months later - plus Lucius' two spinster aunts, his mother's sisters, and a great-uncle, and a cousin..." She turned the page to one featuring a photo of a large, well-dressed, snooty-but-attractive looking group of wizards and witches, surrounding Lucius and Narcissa, just above a photo of a crowd of small-nosed, angular, affluent people, mostly dark-haired, all of whom either appeared to be bored with the situation or downright miserable.

"My mother is wearing that expression because she hated having her picture taken," Narcissa said, inadvertently reminding Hermione of her skills as a Legilimens. "Not that she looked much happier when _not_ having her picture taken. That's my cousin Regulus there. He was your friend's godfather's younger brother." He, too, looked miserable. "He was killed a few days after Reinald. We've no idea why, but the Dark Lord did it himself. Let's skip ahead, shall we?"

"Alright," breathed Hermione. Seeing Regulus had momentarily taken her breath away. He looked so very much like a young Sirius, the same hair, the same eyes. She wondered if he had already betrayed Lord Voldemort when the photograph was taken, or whether he was even considering it yet. She wondered when and how he discovered the secret of the Horcruxes. He was young, younger than Hermione was now, in that picture. It occurred to her that Draco's "first" Christmas was his cousin Regulus' last.

Narcissa stopped on a page featuring a large photograph of a sleeping newborn. She smiled shakily, tapping the corner.

"Wasn't he a beautiful baby?" she asked Hermione.

For reasons she couldn't understand, Hermione's eyes welled with tears.

"He's beautiful," she agreed, sniffling. "Look at that nose!"

"You should have seen his bitty fingers and toes. Here, on this one, you can. He was about to have his first bath. My mother-in-law thought it was positively scandalous that I insisted upon giving him that bath. 'That's what house-elves are for!' she said. 'If you want a human touch, hire a nanny!' She hated that I nursed him, too. She started calling me 'the help.' She would say to Lucius, 'Are you going out for dinner tonight, or does the help have to stay home to care for the baby?' My mother-in-law was generally kinder that my own mother, except when it came to what she felt blemished the Malfoy family reputation or image. But I loved caring for my own baby. I wanted more..." Now Narcissa was the one fighting back tears. "We lost one in the second trimester, and after that..."

"I'm sorry," whispered Hermione. She meant it. Not only was she sorry Narcissa hadn't been able to have more, she was additionally sorry because she absolutely did NOT want to give her the grandchild she so desperately sought. Not soon, certainly, and possibly not ever.

"You may change your mind," said Narcissa, and Hermione inwardly cursed, having forgotten again about the woman's mind-invasion capabilities. She seemed to be better at the skill than Professor Snape, who usually had to be making eye contact in order to read someone.

"I may," she conceded.

"But you may not." Narcissa turned the page. The next one featured newborn Draco swaddled in a blanket, being rocked to sleep by his mother. "I never gave any thought to my future beyond marriage, social engagements, and motherhood, Hermione. I never dreamed about having a career like you desire or a charitable purpose like Draco's found. It was not only never expected of me to work, it would never have been permitted. Did I ever tell you I was forced to finish school a year early to enter into an official courtship with Lucius? Dumbledore offered me Head Girl in an attempt to bring me back after I turned seventeen but Mother and Father wouldn't hear of such a thing. I was lucky enough not to have to leave my sixth year after my birthday in March. They gifted me the rest of the term. I felt it was enough at the time, and I don't believe I would have wanted a life like Andromeda's, working a dull job simply because doing so is necessary to buy food and necessities, but when I look at you, bright, ambitious, tenacious, with innumerable possibilities, living up to your full potential, utilizing the skills you learned at Hogwarts, I wonder if I might have been able to make more of myself. I..." She stared intently at another baby picture of Draco, unable to look at Hermione as she made an admission. "I envy you that."

"I finished after sixth year too, and not by choice," Hermione reminded her. "It is my greatest regret. Part of me wishes I'd asked Professor McGonagall to let me return in September after the war, but I learned loads during my time with the Mentorship program and I think I helped people..."

"You helped Draco. And because of that, Draco was able to reach out to Severus to help me. And I believe, in a sense, I've helped Severus. Have you ever tossed a stone into a lake? It sinks but from it there are ripples, wider and wider, moving away. You were the stone and all that has been made better by your Mentoring, the rippled.""

Hermione's cheeks went pink at this praise.

"Look at him here!" Hermione touched a picture of him sucking his thumb, perhaps three months old. "I didn't know he was a thumb-sucking baby!"

Narcissa smiled wistfully. "He did that until he was four. I couldn't stand it at the time, but looking back, he was sweet with that little thumb in his mouth, wasn't he?"

They looked through the rest of that album, which ended on Christmas Day when he was six months old. Hermione offered to carry Teddy to Draco's old crib where he'd been spending the night, as Andromeda was out with her 'friend' Barnaby again.

"Thank you," said Narcissa, stretching. "I'm exhausted."

The following day was Easter Sunday. Narcissa dressed Teddy in one of Draco's old outfits, one so sweet she hadn't been able to bear to part with it when they got rid of the baby things, and headed out to meet Andromeda, Barnaby, Barnaby's grandson Grayson, and Severus for dinner. They could have stayed at Malfoy Manor and enjoyed a house-elf prepared feast, but the elves were busy preparing for the fundraising gala coming up the following Saturday, thus they opted for out instead.

Draco and Hermione, meanwhile, headed for her parents' house.

"I warn you, they've been sniping at each other lately," Hermione said as they walked from the apparition point toward the Granger's home. "My mother says they've been under stress. And my brother and sister are two Teddies. They'll drive you bonkers."

"I'm ready, Hermione," he assured her with a squeeze of her hand. They'd been dating over a year already and this would be the first time he'd met them. She's invited him to dinner last Christmas but with his mother in rehab, he was in no mood, and was therefore afraid he wouldn't be able to make a good impression, thus she'd gone alone.

Jean Granger opened the door before Hermione had finished knocking. She had twenty-one-month-old Orlando on her hip and a chocolate handprint on the front of her white blouse. Hermione hid a giggle, remembering what Severus had said about children leaving sticky handprints on their mothers for five-plus years. No, she didn't want that!

"Come in, come in!" She ushered them into the kitchen, where dinner smelled delicious. "You must be Draco."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Granger." He put out his hand. Hermione smiled. He looked quite Muggle today, in black trousers and a green dress shirt, his wand safely tucked away inside her handbag, his hair in a low ponytail. He was handsome, and Hermione could tell her mother agreed.

"We've heard so much about you, Draco."

"We heard you were on opposite sides during that magical war, but you're reformed now," said Jonathon, coming into the kitchen with Ophelia in his arms. He strapped her into her tray-less highchair beside Orlando in his before pushing both close to the table.

"This is my husband, Jonathan."

Draco managed to suppress his nerves as they shook hands.

"My sister is Ophelia and my brother is Orlando," said Hermione. "Ophelia recently got glasses! Now she can see much better, can't you?"

Ophelia didn't answer, but she smiled. Orlando, on the other hand, threw up his hands and shouted, "I WANT GASSES TOO! ME TOO!"

"We have talked about this, Orlando," said Jean Granger. "You don't need them. You can see fine. Ophelia needs glasses the same way she needs her hearing aids. They're tools, not toys."

"Ophelia is delayed," Hermione whispered, though she needn't have. Everyone in the room, Draco included, already knew this. When she didn't start walking and talking and responding to her name as Orlando did, their parents took her to be tested only to discover she had severe astigmatism and Sensorineural Hearing Loss, which meant she was probably missing most of what her mother and sister were trying to teach her.

"She's getting much better now that she can see and hear!" said Jonathon, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head before ruffling his son's curly brown hair.

"Hi," said Ophelia, smiling at Draco. He smiled back.

"Hi."

"HI HI HI HI HI!" shouted Orlando, not one to enjoy seeing someone else be the center of attention. "I SAY HI!"

"You needn't shout, Orlando," scolded Hermione. A few minutes later, she and Draco settled on one side of the long oval table across from the twins in their highchairs, as her parents took their places on either end.

The four adults tried to carry on conversation during dinner, though it was frequently punctured by Orlando's attempts to remind everyone of his existence and Ophelia's occasional words, most of which she echoed after others said them.

After the meal, Jonathon Granger offered Draco a tour of the house, which Hermione suspected was done more to get him alone to enquire as to the young man's intentions with his daughter than it was to show off their tiny home. They brought Orlando with them. Hermione stayed in the kitchen with her mother and Ophelia. She sat her sister in her lap as they watched their mother start the dishes. (She'd already turned down Hermione's offer to help.)

"What do you think, Mum? Of Draco?"

"He's good-looking, mature, polite. It's obvious he comes from money."

"How can you tell?"

"I can tell."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Only if you're only with him for his money."

"No!" Hermione looked horrified. "His wealth means nothing to me! Anyone can inherit a fortune. It doesn't mean they're special or more worthy of love than poorer wizards. Or people. Poorer people."

"People," copied Ophelia, nodding as if part of the discussion.

"His mother wants us to marry and have children before I'm twenty-five."

"What?" Jean Granger almost dropped the plate she was washing. "You're too young! You have your whole life to – Oh, Hermione, please, you can't! Not until you're at least thirty! Have a career, focus on that, have fun, focus on yourself! You can date Draco, you can even... even continue living with him, as much as I worry about that, but please, do not make me a grandmother for at least another ten years!"

"You would be upset, then?" While she knew she didn't want children right now, this visceral reaction from her mother surprised and worried her. She held Ophelia a little tighter. "But what if... what if we didn't mean to? What if it was an accident, and..."

"Don't have an accident! Are you on – I cannot believe we haven't discussed this – are you on birth control? Does he use protection? Please, Hermione, you cannot be too careful!"

"There are options, if it happens though, aren't there? I could–"

"Hermione, I don't want you thinking about options for after. There should not be an 'after.' Protect yourself in the before. Oh, dear, love, my girl..." Her mother set the plate on the counter and pulled up a chair across from her two daughters. "Is it too late? Are you...?"

"I'm only a bit late," whispered Hermione, her eyes brimming with tears she did not want to cry. "But we've been careful, and..."

"Tomorrow," interrupted her mother. "We'll take you to the doctor tomorrow."

"I can see a Healer on my lunch break from work."

"You're not going to work tomorrow. You're coming straight here and I'm taking you to see Dr. Carrington. Understood?"

"I'm only a bit late," Hermione repeated woodenly. Hearing the footsteps of her father and Draco approaching, she quickly got hold of herself and was smiling when they entered the kitchen.

The rest of their visit passed uneventfully.

Andromeda and Barnaby chose the restaurant for their Easter supper, a mid-price wizarding place in Yorkshire. It was a pleasant meal. Grayson and Teddy behaved and ate their food without complaint, only spilling a marginal amount on themselves and the floor while Severus and Barnaby found something to talk about that wasn't the weather or the news (Goblin rebellions in 17th century Europe, which bored everyone else at the table but kept the men engaged for a good fifteen minutes). Before pudding, Andromeda and Narcissa took the toddlers to the toilet, during which they were finally able to speak candidly.

"It's been two years that you're a widow," said Narcissa, as Andromeda helped little Grayson unfasten his trousers. "Do you still feel as though you're cheating on Ted to be with someone else?"

"At times. Teddy's birthday was difficult. We don't know exactly when Ted was killed, but remembering how bittersweet it was for Nymphadora, meeting her baby at last but facing the reality her father would never meet his namesake, that brought back... it reopened the wound. After Teddy's party, after you'd all gone home and he was asleep, I ate cake while taking a hot bath and cried. But I didn't drink. And Barnaby is a patient man."

"I will always be in love with Lucius." Narcissa prompted Teddy to flush the toilet, then helped her sister guide both boys to the sink to wash their hands. "When he was executed, I died. A part of me died. With Severus, I feel reborn. I'll always love Lucius, but I no longer wish I'd died with him. I'm happy to be alive and in love and..." She snuggled Teddy to his chest but he wriggled down, wanting to walk independently.

"I know," said Andromeda. "You think I don't know? We've spent more of our lives apart than together and still, in some ways, I know you better than you've ever known yourself."

"You give yourself too much credit," replied Narcissa, but she couldn't help thinking her older sister might be right.

One day shy of one week later, the night before the fundraising gala, Malfoy Manor was a mess... and so was Draco.

"Nothing is completely ready, I'm not ready, and it's going to be a disaster!" exclaimed Draco, who'd just caught hell from Hermione because she caught him screaming obscenities at an elderly house-elf who'd forgotten to polish all of the good silver that was to be used at the banquet.

"There is plenty of time left to do what must be done, and reducing that poor old elf to tears isn't going to help anything go faster!"

This led to a shouting match between the young lovers, broken up by Severus, who entered the dining room from the hall with Duchess the dog at his heels.

"Couldn't even take her for a walk without having to hear you two! You are acting like first years!"

"She doesn't understand how important this is!" Draco stomped his foot like a petulant child. "That silver should have been shined no later than yesterday!"

"He's impossible to talk to!" Hermione pointed furiously in his direction. "I'm going back to my mother's!"

"Calm down about the damn silver," snapped Severus. "You _are_ impossible." He stepped in front of Hermione, who was in the process of storming out. "And you, stay put and stop being melodramatic. You cannot run home to Mummy every time you two have a row!"

Hermione's mouth dropped. Draco went even redder.

"She is not melodramatic, she's passionate!"

"And he is only trying to ensure everything goes smoothly tomorrow!"

"Dunderheads." Severus turned on his heel and tapped his thigh to get Duchess' attention. "We have an appointment and will return in time for dinner. In the interim, quit bickering."

"Who is he to tell us what to do?" muttered Draco as Severus' footsteps receded down the hall.

"He's been ornery as of late," replied Hermione, who was starting to think she might regret having agreed to leave her Ministry job to work at his apothecary starting the first of May.

Meanwhile, halfway to the front gate, Severus was smirking. Nothing brings a couple together like attacking each party individually; the other will inevitable jump to his or her lover's defense. He picked up Duchess, closed his eyes, and apparated them to Hogsmeade.

He had a lunch date with Minerva.

Upstairs in the bedroom, Narcissa was sobbing.

She was sobbing because she couldn't fit into the exquisite gown she'd purchased one month prior in preparation for the gala. It was too tight.

"I'm... as... big... as... a... hippogriff!" she wailed into her pillow. How could this happen? She'd been so careful. Not drinking, watching her sugar and fat intake, exercising... Okay, not _exercising,_ unless sex with Severus counted. But it should. It _should_ count, since it involved working up a sweat! How could she possible attend the gala without a gown? If the new one was too small, surely all of her old ones would be as well.

"Mistress Malfoy needs help?" asked the tiny house-elf who'd just escaped being berated by Draco.

"Mistress Malfoy is massive!" Narcissa replied through her tears. "My dress is too small, Butters. I need to wear it tomorrow, I've just tried it on so I could decide upon my jewelry and shoes, and it's too small!"

"Butters can transfigure the dress bigger," the house-elf suggested in a delicate tone.

"Big enough to fit, perhaps, but not big enough to hide this!" She rolled onto her back and placed her hands on her belly, which was protruding only slightly. While she was more filled out now than she'd been at her most gaunt and sickly, she was only a stone heavier than she'd been at the start of the second war, which really wasn't so much.

"Mistress Malfoy will wear the dress for Butters?" The tiny house-elf smiled expectantly, and her earnestness pulled Narcissa from the bed. She put the dress on but could not zip it, a problem the elf quickly rectified.

"I look fat," the witch lamented, staring herself down in the full-length mirror.

"Mistress Malfoy looks lovely," argued Butters. "Not fat." She placed a tiny hand on Narcissa's belly. "Mistress Malfoy should not cry, should be happy. Master Malfoy would be happy."

"I don't know about that," scoffed Narcissa. "With all the stress of this gala, I don't think he remembers what happiness feels like."

"Not Young Master Malfoy," said Butters. " _Master_ Malfoy." Butters looked uncomfortable for a moment before clarifying, "Master Lucius Malfoy."

Narcissa gasped and sat on the edge of the bed, which wasn't easy in such a tight gown. Without being asked, Butters snapped her fingers and the fabric relaxed just enough. "Do you think my Lucius would be happy, Butters? Or do you think he would hate me? Would he feel I replaced him?"

Butters reacted as if personally scandalized by the suggestion.

"Master Malfoy could never hate Mistress Malfoy! Master Malfoy loved Mistress Malfoy forever, with the whole heart! Master Malfoy would want Mistress Malfoy to be happy, to be loved with the whole heart."

"Severus loves me with his whole heart, but I might still love him with only half of mine. How can I give him my whole heart without giving up the love I have for Lucius?"

Butters smiled, revealing several broken teeth. Narcissa mentally noted she would have to have the poor old girl taken in to a specialist to ensure this was only due to age. They used to do so every year, have their house-elves checked out and cared for, but since her husband died... a twinge of guilt filled her. Butters was the only house-elf she brought with her from her parents' home to Malfoy Manor, the one who'd been caring for her since infancy. Unlike Dobby, Lucius' elf, Butters adored her.

"Master Malfoy is never gone from the whole heart, Mistress Malfoy. The heart hold all the love. Butters had a whole heart full of love for Mistress Bella and Mistress Meda and Mistress Cissy and more for Young Master Malfoy."

"You haven't called me Mistress Cissy since I was a girl." Narcissa smiled. She hadn't hugged her house-elf since childhood either, but she couldn't help wondering how the elf would react if she tried to now. "Thank you, Butters. You've always been my favorite."

"Mistress Malfoy is most welcome," said Butters, still smiling. "Mistress Malfoy is Butters' favorite, too. Mistress Malfoy is not a bitch like Mistress Bella."

Narcissa laughed, but Butters looked horrified by the words she'd accidentally uttered - advanced age can rob a house-elf of her mind-to-mouth filters. Unable to stop herself, Narcissa bent down from the bed and hugged the little old house-elf, who squeaked with surprise before awkwardly hugging her back.

Severus had a difficult time navigating the halls of Hogwarts on account of the fact that every student who stayed over the holiday had apparently never seen a dog before and therefore needed to accost his. He escaped a group of Slytherins in the front hall only to be accosted again - this time by giggling girls - when he approached Minerva's office.

"She's so precious!" cooed a second year Ravenclaw to her Hufflepuff friend, who was scratching Duchess behind the ears. The cocker spaniel's tail was wagging and her tongue was hanging out as she enjoyed the extra attention. Quickly, two other girls, first year Gryffindors, joined them, both using baby talk to tell his dog she was the prettiest ickle bitty baby puppykins they've ever seen. Severus tried out his best glare on the girls, but unlike his former students, they seemed completely unfazed. Apparently they knew him only as the war hero spy their parents told them about, and not as the formidable bully he'd been to his potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts students, thus he instilled in them no fear. Damn it.

"We are leaving now! Duchess, come!" said Severus, tapping his thigh. Duchess shot him a wounded look, as if asking piteously why he wanted to take her away from her wonderful new friends. "Duchess, I said come!"

She obeyed, though reluctantly, and finally they made it to Minerva's office.

Over lunch he shed all pretense of not being in love with Narcissa and instead lamented to the Headmistress (and, because it was there on the wall, the portrait of Dumbledore) about her odd behavior as of late. Sneaking into the kitchen at night to have Butters provide her with sweet treats, getting sick from having overindulged, then complaining about her weight and figure, crying one moment and happy the next, sniping at poor Duchess for absolutely no reason (Duchess wagged her tail and yipped excitedly at the sound of her name) and generally keeping him completely confused.

"She switches from hot to cold and back again in more ways than one multiple times per day, and she's been losing things – her shoes, her cloak, her wand... her mind..."

"Sounds to me like The Change," said Minerva gently. "Are you familiar with Menopause ?"

"Menopause?" repeated Severus. He remembered his mother going through it, but hadn't paid her much mind at the time, frankly.

"Mrs. Malf - excuse me, Narcissa - is on the younger side, but it can happen to any witch over forty. Has she been having her cycle?"

Severus was appalled by the question. "I don't know! I don't ask about such personal matters."

"You sleep with her but you don't ask her about personal matters?" Minerva's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "Think about it. Has she recently–"

"I don't think so." Now that he put his mind to it, he couldn't remember the last time she'd told him they couldn't have sex in the bed because she was bleeding (in the past she'd insisted the best place during that time of the month was the shower or bath. Since any location meant his inevitable pleasure, he had no complaints). "The Change." He sighed. "What should I expect?"

"Oh dear boy," said Dumbledore with a chuckle. "You should expect to brew Felix Felicis on a regular basis, because if she's anything like our fiery Scottish friend here, you'll need an abundance of luck in order to avoid her wrath on days that–"

"Goodnight, Albus!" Minerva flicked her wand and a curtain fell over Albus's frame, stopping him from seeing or hearing them, thought they could hear him.

"I wish you'd stop doing that, Minerva!"

She rolled her eyes. "I had to special order that curtain because he was driving me mad with his meddling."

For the next forty minutes, she explained The Change to Severus. When he departed, he took Duchess to Honeydukes in Hogsmeade for Chocolate Frogs. If Minerva was to be believed, both Narcissa and Severus would be needing them.

Upon returning to Malfoy Manor, Severus went straight to the bedroom expecting to find Narcissa, but she was not there, thus he launched into the lecture he'd been saving since leaving Hogsmeade.

"Your conduct was atrocious, Duchess," he scolded. "You practically threw yourself at that bulldog! What were you thinking? Don't you know that's how puppies are made? You're lucky I was there with my wand at the ready and that a spray of water from an Aquamenti was enough to scare him back to his owner! What are we going to do with you?"

At five months old, Duchess was apparently going into heat for the first time, which meant it would be time for a visit to the Muggle veterinarian.

"In the future, perhaps, it wouldn't have been terrible, but now? There couldn't be a worse time."

Severus' stern voice carried out through the partially open door, reaching the ears of Narcissa, who was quickly, quietly approaching.

"I am trying to build a business. I do not have time to fritter away with training and care, sleepless nights and messes on the floor! Not to mention that reproducing - becoming a parent - is an extraordinarily great commitment, one neither of us is ready for. Plainly put, _someone_ is going to have to get fixed. And soon. Before it's too late."

Duchess wagged her tail, tongue hanging out, head cocked to one side, with absolutely no idea what Severus was saying, but happy to be addressed all the same.

Meanwhile, out in the hall, Narcissa felt as though he'd ripped out the whole heart she'd been discussing with Butters mere hours before. She barely made it to what was once Draco's nursery before collapsing into the rocking chair, sobbing harder than she had that morning, fighting back the urge to vomit.

 _What was she going to do?_

Narcissa was quiet all through dinner. Severus tried gently to coax conversation out of her, but gave up when it became clear she did not wish to engage. He tried reading her via Legilimency, but she was entirely closed off, and she must have felt his attempt because she shot him a sharp look that made him drop his soup spoon onto the table. That night, in bed, she faced away from him, holding a pillow against her midsection, disinterested in having his arms around her. He knew better than to take this personally, though it hurt, because Minerva had warned him it might happen.

In the bedroom down the hall, Draco spent over an hour worrying aloud about everything that could go wrong with the gala the following night while Hermione tried to assuage his fears.

"Whatever happens, Draco, I am proud of you," she said, interrupting his rant about how difficult it was to find decent caterers and his lack of confidence in their ability to perfectly pull off the complicated dinner banquet. "When you quit your job, I wasn't entirely confident you were doing the right thing, but seeing how quickly you've pulled this together, how much the new orphan fund has raised thus far, the way you've appealed to everyone not only for donations from those who can, but for the compassion of those who wish to help in other ways, and the way you've even engaged those who tried to look away..."

"We need to find them homes," said Draco. He'd become obsessed with this, and while Hermione was glad he now had a purpose, and a good one, she worried he was being too hard on himself.

"It's going to go well!"

"Well, but how well? I know we'll raise money tomorrow, of that I'm sure, but we also need to find them homes."

"We will." She kissed his cheek and snuggled against his chest. "We'll find them homes."

On Saturday, cocktail hour was to begin promptly at seven, with dinner and the brief speaking program starting at eight then the band taking the stage at nine-thirty. It was now half past three and Draco was in full on panic mode.

"The drawing room is not finished, the dining room is not finished, I have to pick up my dress robe, the band is adding to their list of demands, the head chef wants to switch out one of the starters..."

"Draco!" Hermione took hold of his upper arms, facing him toward her. They were standing in the center of the huge, rectangular Drawing Room, open for the first time since the war. It was beautifully decorated, with floating candles and a enchanted ceiling (to resemble a twinkling night sky) like Hogwarts, done intentionally to remind guests of the place most had called home from age eleven through seventeen. Each of the four fireplaces were going to feature flames of a different color (one for each Hogwarts house: green, maroon, blue, and yellow) and the stage for the band was in the process of being set up. House-elves were using their magic to decorate by placing twinkling gold stars around the windows and hearths, after which they would be preparing the room to which anyone traveling by Floo Powder would arrive and ensuring there were enough toys, books, and treats in the two rooms being used as a daycare during and after dinner for children under eleven.

"What, Hermione?"

"I need you to breathe. Tell me how I can help."

"The house-elves are running behind. We could set the tables in the dining room for the banquet. That way, they can focus on finishing the other–."

He didn't even need to finish. She was already heading out the door. "Let's go, then!"

The trays of silverware and place settings were already lined up across the kitchen counters. They each hovered two at a time, above their hands, and headed carefully toward the dining room.

In the dining room, Narcissa and Severus were surveying the décor.

"It's going to go well," said Severus, incorrectly reading the source of her anxiety. "You should be proud of Draco."

"Of course I'm proud of Draco," she snapped. "Parents are always proud of their children."

"Not always," said Severus darkly, remembering how little praise he'd gotten from his mother throughout his life, and the fact that he'd never heard a kind word from his father." It was with them in mind he added, "Some people are not meant to be parents."

And she burst into tears.

"What is it? Narcissa?"

"You tell me you don't want children, Severus. You tell me... you tell me..."

"Yes!" He tried to take her in his arms but she pulled away. "I don't need a younger woman who can marry me and give me children. I don't want that. I don't need marriage and I don't want children. I need you. I _want_ you."

So _this_ was her issue? Going through menopause was a further reminder that she could not give him a baby.]? But he'd told her countless times he didn't care about that, so why was she this devastated?

"What am I going to do then?" she asked bitterly, glaring at him, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Have an abortion? Is that what you want? I heard you say you don't need any distractions with your business about to open! I heard you say one of us should get 'fixed.' Shall I go to a Healer tomorrow and–"

"What? An abortion? But... what? Why?"

"Haven't you noticed how heavy I've gotten?" Her voice rose in both volume and pitch. She pressed a hand to her slightly protruding belly. "Look at me!"

"Isn't that normal when going through The Change?" he asked. Her eyes flashed and he flinched. Thankfully she did not reach for her wand.

"The Change? You think I'm going through The Change? _The Change?!_ I'm only forty-five, Severus!"

"Min... Minerva said..."

"YOU TOLD MINERVA MCGONAGALL I'M GOING THROUGH THE CHANGE?!"

Poor Severus was wishing he'd taken Albus' advice and brewed that Felix Felicis.

"Narcissa, please, I... an abortion?"

"Is that what you want?"

"An abortion is the termination of a pregnancy," said Severus, somehow still not grasping what was happening, perhaps on account of shock.

"Yes, you _brilliant_ man, that's what it is." Her shoulders shook as she cried, but still she kept her arms crossed and backed away when he reached out to touch her. "I'll be four months along in a few days!"

"Along... with a baby?" Now it hit him. It all hit him. And it all made sense. The 'stomach bug' she'd had for weeks, the late night snacks, the weight gain, the mood swings...

"No, with a pygmy puff. Yes, a baby!"

"And I keep telling you I don't want children." He felt awful. He felt awful for the pain he must have been causing her all these weeks, these months. He felt awful for not realizing it. He felt awful, and then... he felt elation.

"Yes! That's what you keep telling me!"

"A baby!" He looked to the ceiling, trying to process this information. "We're having a baby? Narcissa?"

"You don't want it," she was still crying, unable to look at him. "But I can't have an abortion, I simply can't, not after nearly twenty years of wanting another baby, not after that awful miscarriage, not after all I've been through with losing my husband, losing my sister, nearly losing my son... so if you want to leave you may go and I'll raise it all alone and–"

"No! Narcissa!" This time she let him take her in his arms. Defeated and drained, she buried her face against his chest and cried. He rubbed her back and held her comfortingly. "I've been telling you I do not care about having children because I thought you couldn't and I did not want you to feel inadequate. I meant it when I said I'd rather have you without having children than have children with a woman who isn't you, but that doesn't mean I don't want _our_ child, a child together! I love you. As for the weight gain, I simply assumed you were getting fat."

She let out a squeak of laughter and pulled back to look at him.

"You're not lying? You want a baby with me?"

"Yes! Look into my mind, I won't stop you. You can feel that I'm telling the truth. I want – we're having a baby!"

"Yes!"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't know. At first I thought I was going through The Change, and–"

"You were furious at me for thinking you were going through it and yet–"

"It's fine for _me_ to think I'm getting older, Severus. I don't want _you_ thinking I'm getting old! Or fat, for that matter." She swatted playfully at his arm.

"I love you, Narcissa." He cupped her face gently between his hands and leaned down to press a tender kiss to her lips. "I love you and I love our baby." He kissed her a second time.

"I love you too, Severus," she said softly as she ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders. She pulled him closer, and when her lower back hit the edge of the table, he lifted her up onto it. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him again, over and over again.

"My baby," he murmured, placing one palm against her lower abdomen. "Can you feel it moving?"

"Not yet, but soon."

His lips traveled from hers to her cheek to under her ear, down her neck and throat and to her opposite shoulders as she dug her nails lightly into his back. The hand on her abdomen made its way to her breast and she squirmed, feeling the familiar pangs of desire building within her. She guided his mouth to hers as his other hand slipped up her skirt to her thigh. They were breathing heavily, quickly losing control, lost in the moment... lost in the love they shared for each other and for this unborn child created by them, not to mention overcome with relief and desperate to work out the stress both had been carrying for days, week... He kissed her and she kissed him and their hands wandered as their mouths met He groaned, and she gasped, and when he thrust against her she gripped the backs of his shoulders and begged for him. She leaned back and he kissed down her body, from the center of her throat to between her breasts, down to her lower belly, where he lingered.

"I need you," she said, guiding him back up. He groaned, feeling a tug in his lower belly that spread straight to his groin as his own arousal began to build. He grasped her thighs and thrust against her. "Yes," she moaned, scratching at the back of his neck with long manicured fingernails. "Take me here, Severus. Here. Take me now."

"Yes," he answered. "Yes, Narcissa, I need you, too." He gripped her upper thighs under her dress, thrusting against her again, as his lips made their way to her neck. where he sucked, hard. But she wanted more. So much more.

"Yes, Severus, yes!"

"No, Severus, no!"

The couple pulled apart to see a horrified Hermione and disgusted Draco in the doorway, both hovering trays of dishes in front of them. It had been Draco who'd spoken.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded to know, sending the trays to a smaller table. Hermione did the same. "Mother! We have having a banquet here in under four hours! What are you doing on my table?"

"We're having a baby," she answered.

"NOT ON MY TABLE, YOU'RE NOT! This is a very important gala, Mother, and I need everything to go perfectly! We cannot have – what did you say?"

"We're having a baby," Severus repeated. He helped Narcissa down from the table and slid an arm around her waist. He stared Draco down as if daring him to say something negative about it, whereas Narcissa wore a nervous, hopefully expression. Draco's jaw dropped exaggeratedly. He did not speak, nor did he move.

"Congratulations!" exclaimed Hermione, recovering first. She moved forward to embrace her boyfriend's mother. "You must be excited! When are you due?"

"Mid-September."

"Mid-September," repeated Draco, sounding stunned.

"Darling?" Narcissa stepped away from Severus and Hermione, reaching out toward her son. "Having a baby won't mean I'll love you any less."

He stared at her for a long moment before starting to laugh.

"Mother! You hypocrite!" he exclaimed. "Wasn't it you who told Hermione she should wait until marriage before giving herself to a man? It's a bloody good thing grandmother is dead because the scandal from this would have killed her! You're having a bastard baby with a half-blood! No offense, Snape, but Grandmother Black would have... would have..." He was guffawing too hard to continue. Hermione looked upon him with worry, afraid the stress of the gala had gotten to him and he'd finally snapped. He struggled to compose himself.

"You're lucky I love you, Draco, or this would be the moment I hex you from here to Thursday for your cheek. Do not disrespect your mother." But Narcissa was smiling too, smiling and relieved. He managed to stand up straight and catch his breath.

"I'm happy you're happy, Mother."

She kissed his cheek and enveloped him in a hug.

"Good thing your test came back negative, eh Hermione?" Draco asked over his mother's shoulder. "Otherwise I'd become a father and a brother within the same year."

"What?" Narcissa drew back, surveying him with a serious expression. "What test?"

"Draco!" Hermione squeaked. They weren't planning to share that with anyone aside from her mother, as no one else knew it had been a possibility.

"Don't worry, it was negative, as I said!"

"Still! You simply _must_ be more careful, Draco!" lectured Narcissa sternly. "I am not prepared to become a grandmother at this stage of my life. I'm only forty-five. I'm expecting a baby. Hermione has just accepted a position in Severus' apothecary and he needs to know he can rely on her. Do either of you have any idea what a commitment parenthood is? You absolutely cannot have children for at least another ten years! Understood?"

"Of course, Mother." He rolled his eyes, but Hermione looked relieved.

"We understand."

"Bloody hell," said Severus. "Duchess? Duchess!"

The puppy tore into the drawing room, skidding and nearly falling over when she tried to stop too quickly at her beloved master's feet. She sat and actually seemed to smile. She was indeed a happy dog.

"Duchess, tomorrow I am taking you to a veterinarian to get fixed. Understand?"

She wagged her tail.

"Good girl. Now let's finish setting up for this damn gala. The sooner it starts the sooner it'll be over."

"He's positively _charming,_ Mother," Draco muttered sarcastically, close to his mother's ear. "It's clear why you're smitten with him."

Hermione giggled. Narcissa grinned. Severus whirled around, glaring down at Draco.

"I heard that, Malfoy."

* * *

 **A/N:**

I loved all of your comments on the last chapter! I thought I was being much more subtle than I was with my hints that Narcissa might be pregnant, apparently, because nearly all of you either picked up on it or hoped for it! I just love stories in which Severus Snape becomes a father (or a stepfather, or ends up raising someone else's child for some reason). There are only three chapters left! They're all shaping up to be pretty long since I really should have planned on 34-35 chapters instead of 32, but I'm not going to deviate from the outline now that it's almost done! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

To answer three specific Qs –

I have not shown Severus' Patronus yet so you didn't miss anything, but it'll come up before the end. ;)

Yes, Duck & Waffle is a real restaurant in London and I chose food off their menu each time I had characters eat there. I've never been but when I saw the name and the menu I immediately added it to my "Someday Soon" list. I hope it's as good in real life as it is in my imagination!

Regarding EuroDisney (now Disney Paris) when I went most of the families I chatted with were from England or Ireland and seemed happy. I also ran into a few German families and one Italian one. I was told there were a lot of French kids there the week before because that was their school holiday, but it wasn't crowded at all when I went. I didn't meet a single other American.

 **-AL**


	30. Strength

**A/N:**

This is a somewhat transitional chapter, which is why it covers everything from April through August. Be forewarned, there's citrus ahead, and it's... a little different. Structurally. An experiment for Narcissa (though not super-overly-graphic since this fic was originally Rated T). Draco & Hermione will have their lemony 'moment' in the next chapter. Then there's only one chapter left!

Hope you enjoy!

Thanks for reading! Please review :)

 **-AL**

* * *

 **CHAPTER THIRTY:**

 **STRENGTH**

The apothecary was bustling. Even though it was only July, there were already students and parents picking up the basics for the upcoming school year: new cauldrons, ladles and scales, dragon-hide gloves, all the accessories, plus Pepper-up Potions and Calming Draughts, Dreamless Sleep and Severus' new Anxiety Suppressant, advertised as the perfect pre-test potion for nervous students. That one had been Hermione's idea, thus she was particularly proud of it, though he'd been the one to develop it with only minor help from her.

Her job was more like that of a Muggle pharmacist than a shop girl. She was sometimes in the back and sometimes out front, trading off with her fellow potions apprentice. Today she wandered around the magically expanded brown and brick building, explaining the properties and uses of various potions to parents and students. Recently hired Ambrosia Carrow, Goyle's girlfriend, was at the counter, reminding patrons not to cut the queue in between taking money and bagging products. She wasn't the most academically talented witch, but she was good with money and had a professional-but-approachable quality Severus thought fit the establishment well.

Neville Longbottom, co-apprentice, stuck his head out from the back room, calling to Hermione.

"I'm bottling that specially requested Hiccupping Potion. Are they here to pick it up?"

Hermione called back the affirmative then gestured to a mother and a little boy who hurried to her side. The boy's entire body jumped every other second as he tried to hold in the squeaks that came with each hiccup.

"Four days, it's been," said his haggard-looking mum. "Even in his sleep!"

The freckle-faced blond boy, who was missing his two front teeth, grinned and held up his hands as if to say, 'What can you do?'

"This will help, I promise. A dose now, a dose in twelve hours, and a dose twenty four hours after that. The hiccupping should stop within an hour after the first dose, but do not neglect the other two or it may return with a vengeance. Ambrosia will be happy to ring you out."

"Thank you, dear!" said the woman, grasping Hermione's hand. She added in a hush, "And thank you for helping to stop those dreadful executions. My brother Antonin was scheduled for the end of May, last year. You saved his life! He's been resentenced to twenty-five years in Azkaban, after which he can enter that Mentorship program in order to rejoin society. He'll be an old man then, and hopefully a changed man as well, ready to do something good with his second chance, like that Draco Malfoy. My Joshua here is one of his war orphans. My partner and I have always wanted children and when we saw his photograph at the gala, we knew... We knew he was meant to be part of our family."

"Thank you!" added Joshua, who promptly punctuated his words with a loud hiccup that made him giggle. "I used to have no mum (HIC) an' now I got _two_!"

"I... you're welcome," said Hermione. She was used to people thanking her for her efforts during the war, but as the woman hurried into line, Hermione's hand went to the center of her chest, where she still bore a faint scar from that awful curse Antonin Dolohov had hit her with in the Ministry at the end of fifth year. She'd saved the life of the man who nearly killed her, and his sister had gone on to adopt that sweet six-year-old war orphan. Hermione watched them as they stood waiting to pay. The woman was clutching their bag of potion vials, holding the boy's hand with her free one, and he was grinning up at her, trying to tell her a story between hiccups. She was smiling back, smiling at him as any mother would, even though they couldn't have been family for more than two months.

Hermione should have recognized him, she realized, but he'd looked so different in his grayscale picture on display during the gala. In that image he'd had sad, wide eyes and an expression of utter misery, sitting with slumped shoulders in his bunk in the dreary orphanage. His mother had died in childbirth and his father had been killed by Death Eaters in 1997. There was no other family. His little life had not been easy. Hermione watched them until they'd paid and were leaving. The ginger-haired woman hugged the little boy to her side as they headed outside to meet another woman, presumably his other mother, who greeted him with the same broad smile.

"Granger!"

Severus Snape's sharp voice permeated the air, making her flinch.

"Yes, sir?"

"Am I paying you to daydream?"

"No, sir!" She quickly threw herself back into work, making a mental note to tell Draco about toothless, hiccupping, happy Joshua later.

The apothecary shut down at two each day for a one hour lunch, during which she, Neville, Ambrosia, and Severus ordered takeaway and ate in his small office. Today they were having fish and chips with mushy peas and cold butterbeer. Severus typically read a book as he ate, but did not mind that the others engaged in conversation, for the most part. Today, Draco slipped into the shop just before the door was locked, asking if he could join them, as he had to talk to Hermione and Severus.

"Very well," said Severus, barely hiding a look of concern. Neville, who'd picked up the food, carried it into the back followed by the others.

Hermione and Draco still couldn't believe Severus had hired him – hell, they couldn't believe he'd applied! – but Neville had said he thought his abilities in Herbology were now such that he could transfer over to experimental potions, and he swore he'd gotten "loads better" since being at Hogwarts. It turns out, once away from Snape's bullying and critical eye, the boy could actually brew quite well, thus Severus gave him the chance to co-apprentice with Hermione... on the condition his clumsiness and forgetfulness not get in the way of his work. So far, so good.

Hermione and Draco sat side by side at a small table, while Neville and Ambrosia shared the other small table, and Severus sat at his desk. Hermione cut her cod in half, giving some to her boyfriend of one-and-a-half years, and also sharing her chips and vinegar, but unwilling to part with any of her peas.

"What is it, Draco?" asked Severus, slipping a chip to Duchess, who was sitting beside the desk, tail wagging. She loved lunch time. "You're giving off an air of distress."

"I was at the Daily Prophet office this morning, giving an interview–"

"You, indulging the press?" asked Severus, eyebrow raised. "Shocking."

Hermione tried not to laugh, but Ambrosia giggled and Neville smirked. Now that Draco was transforming himself into a philanthropist, throwing his money around and relying on reputation as much as his father had (but with better intentions), he was in the paper at least twice a week and clearly enjoyed the attention.

"That book is being released in August, Severus!" exclaimed Draco, in no mood to be teased today. "The one featuring an excerpt by father's 'friend' Blythe Willow. How shall we warn Mother?"

Now no one was laughing.

"We cannot upset her," said Severus after a pause. "The midwife was clear that your mother should be kept free from stress for the good of the baby. Let me think on it. I'll decide what we tell her and when. Leave it to me."

"Thank you." Draco looked relieved. Hermione reached over to squeeze his hand. Things were going well for them, for all of them, and for that woman to potentially ruin their happiness now, after all that had been transpired?

No. They could not allow that.

Severus would think of something.

Back in April, at the gala, Draco Malfoy met Blythe Willow, his father's one-time mistress, while sampling the hors-d'oevres during cocktail hour. He and Hermione were gulping down raw oysters (it was her first time trying one) and sharing champagne, which his mother was ordered to stay away from (not only for her sobriety, but for the baby) when a glamorously dressed curvaceous witch approached them, a handsome younger man on her arm.

"Excuse us a moment, Horatio," she said. He nodded and moved to talk to a group of men nearby.

"Draco Malfoy, you look so much like your father it's uncanny." She reached out to touch his bicep, long painted nails gently scratching against the fabric of his dress robe. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Couldn't the woman see her standing right beside him?

"And you are...?" asked Draco, thinking she looked vaguely familiar but unable to place her.

"I was a good _friend_ of your father for a time." The way she said 'friend' instantly put both Draco and Hermione on edge. "And if you're anything like him, I wouldn't mind being your friend too."

Before she could consider what she was doing, Hermione whipped out her wand, thrusting the point under the woman's chin.

"He has enough friends, thank you!"

"It's alright, Hermione." Calmly, he guided her wand hand down by her side.

The woman, who'd looked momentarily taken aback, smiled coyly, like a seductive snake.

"Such a fiery spirit. You must be the Muggleborn, Granger. Landed a wizard a bit out of your league, haven't you? Lucky girl."

Hermione glared at her. Draco nodded confirmation as if the woman had merely guessed Hermione's name.

"Yes, this is Miss Hermione Granger. You wouldn't happen to be Madam Willow, would you?" he asked.

She looked pleased. "You've heard of me?"

"Nothing good, I'm afraid." Draco smiled and greeted at a wealthy, elderly pureblood couple, the Shafiqs, passing on his left. Hermione, feeling the fire inside her begin to die out, simply stood back to watch. She was impressed by his cool attitude, the way he exuded class. Though this was more the Malfoy she'd seen in school than the man she'd come to love, she couldn't help being both fascinated by and attracted to his 'other' self, his public persona. Across the room, his elegantly coiffed mother carried herself the same way, her tiny baby belly barely visible under the material of her tight, exquisite gown. Now Hermione, feeling plain by comparison, could see why her own mother could discern that Draco came from privilege. Some people simply _oozed_ old money.

"Such a shame," said Blythe Willow silkily, her hand still on Draco's bicep. "You must not have heard about me from your father, then. I'm certain _he_ had no complaints."

"On the contrary," said Draco casually, as if discussing a mildly interesting news story. "My father considered that short-lived infidelity the worst error in judgment he ever made, and as his son, I reap the benefits of having learned from his mistakes. Now, if you'd excuse me, the Minister for Magic has just walked in, and it would be utterly _uncouth_ if I were to neglect my duties as host by failing to be among the first to greet him. Have a wonderful evening Madam... Willow, was it?"

Blythe's face reddened as her hand dropped to her side. Pretending not to recall her name when he'd just said it moments before was a metaphorical face slap. Hermione couldn't hold back a grin. Draco squeezed his girlfriend's wrist before hurrying off to say hello to Shacklebolt, leaving the two women alone (relatively speaking).

"He looks like his father, but he's _not_ his father," said Hermione. "And with his father gone, his mother moved on, and the secret out to the entire wizarding world, you hold no more power over this family. Understand?"

Without awaiting a response, Hermione tossed her long, delicately curled hair and went to join Draco and Kingsley.

After the successful gala, time marched on. April bled into May, and on the second, there was a ceremony held on the grounds at Hogwarts to remember the fallen, two years after the end of the war.

"Only two years," whispered Hermione, seated (uncomfortably) in a place of honor between Harry and Ron, facing the crowd while half-listening to the speech given by Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Why does it feel like a lifetime?"

"Because the war was in another lifetime," Harry whispered back. "Can you imagine breaking into Gringotts now?"

"No! I'm not as brave as I once was!"

"You're not as desperate. We did what we had to do to stay alive, to save others."

"Now I can save others by brewing them the potions they need and you can save others by being a bloody good Auror and Ron can save his goal posts from the opposing team's Quaffle." She bumped Harry's shoulder with hers. "But I never want to ride on the back of another dragon, or hippogriff, or broomstick for as long as I live."

"Shut it, you two!" snapped Ron in a hushed whisper. "The Minister's talking about _me_ now and I want to hear!"

Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance, fighting back smiles. Their lives had changed, that was true, but Ron was still the same old Ron.

"Some things never change," whispered Harry. Hermione had to pretend to get emotional into a tissue to keep from laughing out loud.

She was glad her relationship with her two best friends was on the mend. Though she spent most of her free time with Draco, she needed Harry too. And Neville. And Luna and Ginny. And, sure, even Ron, the self-admiring git. They had been through a lot together and those experiences formed a bond that could never be broken.

And she loved Draco for understanding and accepting that.

Narcissa hadn't gone to the Memorial Service. As she had the year before, she holed up at home, not wanting to think about it. Severus felt he had to attend – he had to maintain a good public image, especially with his apothecary opening soon – but promised to return to Malfoy Manor immediately upon its conclusion, rather than heading to the Great Hall for refreshments as all invited guests were expected to do.

When he entered the Manor, Duchess greeted him at the door, tail wagging as usual. He quickly took her out to do her business then went off in search of Narcissa.

He finally found her curled up in a rocking chair in the nursery that had once been Draco's, where Teddy slept when visiting overnight. It was a sparse room. In her pain post-miscarriage she'd destroyed, Vanished, or given away nearly everything she'd set aside for a second baby, so only the antique rocker and crib remained.

It was clear she'd been crying. She looked up when he entered, but did not speak to him, nor did she react when Duchess ran to her, standing on her hind legs to place her head in Narcissa's lap.

"May I sit?" asked Severus. When she nodded he tapped the arm of the rocking chair with his wand, expanding it into a rocking bench. He sat beside her and pulled her across him so her knees were bent over his lap and her left side was against his chest. Now he cradled her as they slowly rocked. Not one to be forgotten, Duchess jumped up and settled herself on Narcissa's feet.

"I could feel the baby moving today," she said softly.

"And this is... bad?"

"My last baby moved early and frequently too, like this one. Until one day, it didn't. I should have gone to a Healer then, but I waited. I told myself not to worry, that there was nothing wrong. For two days I felt little movement, and then, one day, none at all, and then the bleeding..." She sniffled. "If only I had gone to a Healer at the first sign something felt different..."

"It would not have change the outcome," Severus said, sounding definite though he did not know this to be true. "But if our baby stops moving, tell me, and we'll bring you to St. Mungo's. Alright?"

"Can you feel it?" She took his hand and placed it on her midsection, which had expanded noticeably in the last month. "With Draco, I wasn't this big this soon."

"You're not big now," he said, though that probably wasn't the response she needed. He placed his hand over her belly. He couldn't feel the movement she could yet; it would be another month or so before it would be noticeable outside the womb, but he kept his hand there, imagining his baby – their baby – growing beneath his palm.

And suddenly they were kissing, softly at first, then with increasing urgency. Her hand threaded under his hair, his arms wrapped tightly around her body, and Duchess, sensing she was about to be sent from the room, tried to insert herself between them instead. She licked Severus' chin and he laughed. Narcissa scolded the dog, but scratched her ears as she did so.

"She's not terribly bright, is she?"

"She's brilliant, beautiful, and perfect. Like you."

Narcissa nearly snorted at that.

"I mean it," insisted Severus. "You're brilliant, beautiful, and perfect. Marry me."

"Marry you?" Narcissa was momentarily taken by surprise. They'd never spoken of marriage, save for early in their attraction when she told him she would "always" be married to Lucius. Stalling for time, she added, "Are you asking _me_ or the dog?"

"If your answer is yes, I'm asking you. If your answer is no, I was asking the dog."

"You want to marry me." She pulled him into another kiss. "And I want to marry you. Let's get married, Severus."

"Sorry, Duchess," he said, before capturing his lover's lips again.

They sat snogging for several minutes, before Narcissa stood, stretched, and pulled Severus by the hand. He thought she might be leading him back to the Master Bedroom, but instead she pulled him through a door adjoining the nursery with what had, in previous generations, been the governess' quarters. She closed the door, leaving Duchess stuck whimpering on the other side.

There was a simple double bed in this sparse room. Light flooded in through the round stained glass window above it, creating a rainbow of colors across the white sheets. There were no blankets or pillows.

 _The first time she and Lucius had had sex in this room, they'd been trying to make a baby. They started when standing over the crib, touching and talking and imagining what their future offspring would look like, who he would take after, what his interests would be, and progressed as far as this bedroom, desperate with need for each other. They'd been married a year at this point and were eager to conceive, having hoped to have done it on their honeymoon, though they'd ended up enjoying that first childless year during which they were able to devote the entirety of their lives and love to each other._

Severus took his time undressing her, gentle to a fault, as they kissed. She moved to the bed first, pulling him by the hand. She sat on the edge in just a slip, one with thin straps and lace trim, resembling a virginal nightie over white undergarments, and reached for the waistband of his trousers, undoing the button before tugging down the zipper.

"Will I hurt you?" he asked. "Will I hurt the baby?"

"Not at all," she assured him. She worked down the trousers then rubbed him over the fabric of his undershorts, her lips pressed to his bare hip until she felt him stirring under her touch.

"I could pleasure you," he offered. "You don't have to–"

"I'm pregnant, Severus, not incapacitated." She kissed his the tip of his rapidly growing erection before freeing him of the confines of the last of his clothing, leaving him naked before her.

"Nothing too demanding," he insisted, trying to back away, but she held firmly to his buttocks, keeping him stationary. "You are supposed to avoid stress."

"I don't find this stressful." She took him into her mouth now, silencing him momentarily. Her mouth was wet and hot and welcoming, and he groaned as she began swirling her tongue over the head, using her hand to stroke the base. He tilted back his head, his hand on the back of her head.

"I'll be gentle," he promised, though she hadn't asked it of him. "If I take you, I'll be gentle, and the baby – oh, yes, keep doing that."

 _Once they'd been wed a year, though, the focus switched from one of mutual infatuation with each other to one of mutual infatuation with creation idea of a child, which is what led to him lifting her up from the floor and carrying her into the governess' quarters, depositing her on the bed, and crawling on top of her._

 _"_ _Shall I be gentle?" he asked, tenderly caressing the side of her face with the knuckle of his bent forefinger. "Or do you want it to hurt?" He grabbed hold of her hair and jerked back her head, exposing her throat, making her gasp._

 _"_ _Surprise me," she answered, but he knew what she wanted. He bit down on the center of her throat, eliciting another gasp, as his hands made to divest her of her attire._

 _She worked with equal fervor to remove his robe and trousers and pants, and she had his throbbing cock in her hand before he'd even finished untying her corset._

She squeezed his crown jewels in her free hand, still stroking with the other, lubricating his cock with her tongue, humming as she moved her head, tasting the precum on his tip. His fingers became entwined in her hair, but he refused to allow himself to lose control. She was supposed to take it easy. She could not be subject to stress. Too much rigorous physical activity could have negative consequences... but fuck, it felt so good.

He felt his mind start to clear, his thoughts replaced by a feeling of sheer bliss. He couldn't help thrusting into her wanton mouth, growling when she took all of him. When he was near to finishing, she abruptly stopped, stood, and maneuvered him into the bed, in the place and position she had just occupied. This put him eye-level with her slightly protruding belly, between four and five months along. He lifted the sheer white slip and pressed his lips to her abdomen. He'd never envisioned himself with a child. Once he learned Lily was pregnant by Potter, he gave up any hope of having his own family someday, of finding love, of fatherhood.

Two years ago on this day, when he lay dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, he'd closed his eyes and welcomed death, welcomed it as if he were the Third Brother casting off his cloak. There was nothing left to live for. He'd done all he could for the son of his childhood best friend and his Hogwarts enemy.

Now he was kissing the pregnant belly of the woman he'd marry, more in love than he'd ever realized a person could be. His hands went to her hips. He undressed her from the waist down as she pulled off the slip over her head. She reached to undo her own bra, but he stopped her, standing.

"Let me."

He unclasped the back and tossed it to the floor. His hands ran over her soft skin, down her back, up to her shoulders, down her arms. She winced when his fingertips ran over the scarring on her left forearm.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," she answered. "But it's ugly."

"No part of you could ever be ugly." He took her left hand, lifted it, and kissed the pads of her fingers and she so frequently did to him. He then move his lips to her palm, her inner wrist, and up that scarred and damaged arm.

"Does it not repulse you?" Her voice trembled.

"Do my scars repulse you?"

"No, but they're different." She touched her first two fingers gently to the one on the side of his neck. "They're a reminder of how brave you are, how strong you had to be for so very long. Mine are... mine are the evidence of weakness."

"Yours are tied to your survival and self-preservation, same as mine." He kissed a particularly noticeable one, raised and red, like a thick vein cutting across her inner forearm over where the skull and snake had been. "I love your scars because they're part of you."

"You're not ashamed of them? Of... me?"

"I could never be ashamed of you." He drew her into a hug, his erection pressing against her hip, his lips to her forehead. "I love that you're mine."

 _She loved Lucius' appearance best in the summer, when he had a tan, when his hair was whiter blond than in winter, when he seemed like walking glistening gold, especially if he'd worked up a sweat by working out, going for a shirtless run around the property or lifting weights in the cellar and he'd return to their bedroom sweat-drenched and full of endorphins, in need of a shower. Sometimes she'd let him get in and spend a few minutes, then she'd join to ravish him under the stream of water, but other times she couldn't wait. She'd beg him to bend her over the vanity or toss her onto the bed and fuck her until she forgot her name, until the only thing she could remember was his, which she'd call out over and over and over again as her body thrummed and throbbed until he came, bringing her over the edge with his mouth and fingers and cock all at once._

 _On this day in the room adjacent to the nursery, he was all taut abs and strong arms and sinewy thighs, bronzed skin, long blond hair, nimble fingers working over her breasts and slipping inside her, curling inside her. He was perfection and he was hers and she wanted every witch in their social circle to know it. She wished they could see him this way, to watch his back arch over her, to know how it felt when he took her hardened nipples into his mouth, sucking with such force she feared bruising. She loved bruising. She wanted other women to know she had what they couldn't – and if they tried to have him, she'd kill them._

 _"_ _Mark me," she demanded. "I want to see it."_

 _He obliged by sucking her neck until he'd created a raised red welt, which he then bit down over, hard enough to leave the imprint of his teeth._

 _"_ _Yes," she hissed, holding the back of his head, encouraging him. "Tell the world I'm yours."_

 _"Fuck, Narcissa, you're mine. You're my Feather, my wife. You're the only woman I could ever want."_

"I love that I'm yours," she said, as Severus reverently touched and kissed her, regarding her as if she were glass, fragile, delicate. "Severus? I love being yours." She placed his hand over her abdomen. "I love that this is ours."

"You'll be my wife," he said, his voice low, but with pride in it. "You'll have my name, you'll have my baby, and everyone will know..."

"Yes. I want them to know."

Their tongues met, their lips met, he cupped her cheeks, she gently scritched her nails against the back of his neck. She was again the one who initiated moving onto the bed. He crawled on beside her, over her. He left a trail of kisses from her neck to her breasts, encircling each nipple in turn, pinching the opposite one between two fingers, making her pelvis thrust with need for him. He kept moving south until his head was positioned between her legs, his black hair tickling her inner thighs, his gentle hands prying her legs as open as they could be.

She played with her own breasts as he explored her with his tongue, letting the slick muscle dance between her folds, flicking the tip of it against her clit. He took her most intimate bit into his mouth and sucked without warning, prompting her head to come up from the mattress before slamming back down again as she cried out.

"Don't stop!" she plead when he paused, worried about causing her stress. "Please, please, don't stop."

He took her clit into his mouth again, eliciting a similar response, then let his nimble fingers take over there as his tongue slipped briefly inside her. Even in this, even as she thrust against him, he was temperate, tender and careful. His left thumb was busy with the intimate space between her lips, above his lapping tongue, with his right hand he gently massaged the back of her leg.

She was on the precipice, ready to plunge into sheer mind-bending bliss, when he stopped, turning her over onto her belly, and kissed back up her spine.

 _Lucius rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him._

 _"_ _I like to look at you," he reminded her, sliding his hands up her outer thighs to her hips, guiding her over his body. She slowly moved herself onto him, letting him fill her, taking all of him, tilting her head and arching her back and gyrating slowly. She was nineteen, no longer the shy girl she'd been as a fourth year when he first showed interest in her. He was twenty-one and had completely transformed from boy-to-man over the last few years. Now he turned heads even more than his father, Abraxas, and it pleased Narcissa – fed her vanity, assuaged her veiled insecurities – to be the woman for whom his head turned._

 _"_ _I love your body," said Lucius, running one hand up her side, using his other to stimulate her clit as she moved over him. "I'll love your body when you're pregnant. Will you ride me like this when you're pregnant? So I may watch you?"_

 _"I'll be fat," she warned him._

 _"I don't care. I want to fuck you when you're pregnant."_

Severus did not lean his weight on her, though he allowed his chest to rest flush against her back, as he kissed and sucked the space between her shoulder and neck, one hand holding him up, the other snaked under her to fondle her breasts.

"Take me like this," she whispered. "Do what you will."

"I won't hurt you," he said. He pulled her onto all fours, positioned himself behind her, and, after using two fingers to ensure she was sufficiently wet and ready for him, he entered her from behind.

Her vagina constricted around him, clenching and released, throbbing as his cock did the same. She bucked against him, expecting this to be their final position, rutting animalistically, but he had something else in mind. He leaned back, taking her with him so she was sitting in his lap. He took her hands and placed them on the headboard, then put his own hands on her hips. He guided her up and down on top of him, groaning as he slipped deeper inside her, desperate for her warmth as she slid nearly all the way off with each rhythmic thrust.

Once they found a comfortable pace, he let her take control. His lips again went to that space between her neck and shoulder, one hand went to her breast and the other between her legs, as he worked her into a dizzying, heady state. She kept a slow speed, wanting to prolong both his pleasure and her own, in love with him and their unborn baby and with the feeling of him inside her, filling her. She removed one hand from the headboard, placing it over his, moving his hand from her breast to her belly.

"Tell me why you love me, Severus. Tell me why you want me for your wife."

 _She moved faster and faster, as calculated rhythm gave way to erratic lifting and dropping. She leaned forward, hands on either sides of his shoulders, and kissed him, a hard kiss. He grabbed her arse and spurned her on, then drew back and hand and spanked her. It stung and she yelped and he almost apologized, but then she whispered directly into his ear, "Do it again."_

 _He did it again and this time she moaned. "Harder. Hurt me."_

 _He did it harder. She yelped. She was close. He was closed._

 _"_ _Hit me," he said. "Hurt me."_

 _So she slapped him. She slapped across his face, leaving a pink handprint to match the ones on her backside. He grabbed her hair, yanking some of it out of the French braid, and jerked her face down against his shoulder, her body flat against his. This slight change in position meant his cock was pressing on her inner walls in a new way. She could barely thrust, but continued to ride, to rub against him, simulating the way she'd touched herself as a girl at Hogwarts, always on her belly, her palm pressed against her pussy, her fingers teasing her clit on the outside of her knickers, trying not to make noise so her dorm mates wouldn't hear. This position on top of him made her feel young and dirty and like someone could be listening. She whimpered. He held her even tighter._

 _"_ _I love you, Narcissa. Whether we have ten children or none at all, I don't care. I love you."_

 _"_ _I love you, Lucius," she whispered. "Always, always, always. Forever."_

"I love you, Narcissa," Severus said. She quickened her pace. "I love your dry wit, your sarcasm. I love that you are mature, the embodiment of class, and yet you can be utterly immature, a petty, petulant–"

"That statement had better end in a compliment."

"I love the contradiction," he quickly said. "I love the complexity of your personality. I love the way you look when you're falling asleep listening to me read, when you want to keep awake but your eyelids can no longer fight the need to close. I love your fierce loyalty, your love of your son, the way you'd do anything to protect..." He groaned, momentarily distracted by her increasing speed. He was close again. It was hard to concentrate on speaking, but he continued.

"I love the sapphire blue of your eyes, the sweet scent of your hair, the softness of your skin, the taste of your lips... the taste of you... the way it feels to hold you..."

"Severus." She climbed off of him, turning so they were facing each other. She brushed back his dark hair, gazing into his eyes, needing to see the sincerity there. "I love you, Severus. I love you." She reclined onto her back, guiding him on top of her. "I love your bravery, your brilliance, the sound of your voice, how patient you've been with me. I love your hands, gentle hands that healed me when I needed help, and I love that you were tough on me when you had to be. I love when you tease me. I love your sarcasm. I love the sweet way you treat your stupid dog. I love that you refuse to hurt me even when I ask for it."

"I cannot hurt you." He held her left arm over her head, pinned to the bed, and ran his thumb tenderly across the marred skin. "I love you, Narcissa. I am in love with you."

"I'm in love with you, too. I love you with my whole heart."

 _"_ _After all this time?" asked Dumbledore, genuinely surprised, though he_ _had no cause to be. The silvery doe of the younger wizard's Patronus dissipated into the air of the office._

 _Without question, Severus replied._

 _"_ _Always."_

DEATH EATERS' DIRTY SECRETS was released on the fifteenth of August. There were two chapters devoted to Lucius Malfoy and four about Bellatrix Lestrange, with short inserts about Draco and Narcissa, and an entire section, almost an epilogue, about Severus Snape, traitor-and-spy.

"The good news is, it's mostly rubbish," Severus informed Draco and his apothecary staff during lunch. Narcissa hadn't read the book yet, of that he was certain, because he'd asked Andromeda to spend the day distracting her with baby preparation to keep her away from it. "According to this, an unnamed source with whom I'd been..." he cleared his throat. "Regularly intimate revealed that she knew all along I was Dumbledore's man, claiming I shared with her all of my secrets. No such woman exists, as I shared my secrets with none but Dumbledore himself."

(He didn't add that the only woman with whom he'd been 'regularly intimate' prior to Narcissa was murdered in 1997.)

"It says Father had several affairs but only Blythe Willow would agree to speak on record. You're sure he didn't, though? Have several?"

"Positive."

"It says here Bellatrix Lestrange suffered from undiagnosed madness dating back to her childhood that was exacerbated partly by her lengthy stay in Azkaban and partly by her passionate, occasionally abusive romantic relationship with You-Know-Who." Hermione shook her head. "I cannot believe they wrote 'You-Know-Who' instead of Voldemort. Really!"

"I'd buy she was mad as a child," said Neville, speaking through a mouthful of meat pie.

"Yes, that's likely accurate," said Draco. "But was she in an 'occasionally abusive romantic relationship' with the Dark Lord?" He looked to Severus.

"Only if you have a twisted definition of romance," the Potions Master answered. " _And_ a lack of understanding regarding the definition of the word 'occasionally.'"

To everyone's great surprise, Narcissa was not terribly affected by the book.

"I expected what it says about my Lucius," she explained over dinner with Severus, her son, Hermione, Andromeda, and Teddy the following evening. "And it's not the first time I've been 'called out' as a Death Eater." She glanced down at her scarred arm, covered as usual by long sleeves, then regarded Draco. "I wish they hadn't mentioned you at all, but nothing they wrote went beyond public record You were ordered to kill Dumbledore and were unwilling or unable to do so, thus Severus stepped in as planned, you defected before the end of the Final Battle after Potter saved your life, and you're reinventing yourself as a philanthropist and a Muggleborn's lover but they reserve judgment on whether it's for altruistic reasons or simply to restore your family's reputation. It could be worse."

That night, while in bed, Severus wrapped his arms around his lovely future wife and kissed her shoulder, his hand resting protectively over her large, rounded belly. He could feel the baby shifting positions beneath her skin and sighed contentedly.

"I am proud of you, Narcissa."

"For managing to look so damn good despite being nearly eight months pregnant?"

"For that, too. But I meant for the way you've handled the release of this book."

"Those who care to know the truth do, and those who don't... well, they can bugger off. As long as nothing in this book impacts your business or Draco's charity or this little one's future..." She brought his hand to her lips to kiss his palm, one of her favorite parts of his body. "Lucius' reputation was ruined long ago and as much as I love him, as I'll always love him, I have no influence over how others view him. And I hope you won't mind that I intend to raise our child knowing her half-brother's father wasn't the monster he's been made out to be."

"I don't mind." He kissed her shoulder again. "Though that does provide a segue into something I've been pondering for some time."

"What's that?"

"We need a place to live. For us and the baby. And Duchess."

(The dog, curled up on the end of the bed, lifted her head upon hearing her name. Beside her, Crookshanks the cat continued to sleep.)

"We have a place to live, love."

"We should have our own place." Before Narcissa could protest, he barreled on. "Malfoy Manor is – it's much nicer and larger than any place I ever expected to live, and it's certainly better than my old home on Spinner's End, but it is _Malfoy_ Manner. And once our child is born and you marry me, not one of us will be Malfoys. Let Draco have it. Draco and Hermione. He is already the true Master of Malfoy Manor, after all, and I doubt he'll be disappointed to miss out on sharing his living quarters with a newborn. My business is doing well and the sale on my home should be finalized within the week, thus I have the galleons to purchase a new–"

"I have galleons too, remember? I have some of Lucius' gold and all of Bellatrix's gold and what's left of my parents' gold."

"I do not wish to rely on your family's gold. I am a man. I can provide for my family myself."

"You, your outdated values, and your silly pride." Now she kissed the pads of each other his fingers, another of her favorite things to do. "You sound like a Gryffindor. Does it bother you to envision raising our child here?"

"It does not feel like home. Not _my_ home. It feels like his home. And yours, together."

"It would be difficult for me to leave. I've lived well over half my life here. Some twenty-seven years."

"With him."

"Yes." She now placed her hand over Severus' over her belly again, entwining their fingers as the baby's foot jabbed out, hard, against his palm. "Sometimes it feels as though he's still here."

"I know."

"And you don't like that."

"Would you? This is not only the home you shared with your husband, Narcissa. This is the home in which Charity Burbage was murdered. The home in which both your husband and I were tortured, not to mention your sister, and your son. The home in which–"

"I wonder if it was difficult for Hermione, being in the drawing room during the gala. I did not think to ask her."

"It was." Severus snuggled against her, his face buried into her neck, muffling his next words. " _I_ asked her. But she set her discomfort aside because it was important to Draco."

"She's a lovely little Mudblood, isn't she?"

"Careful." Severus nipped lightly at the back of her neck. "Keeping using offensive slurs like that one and I'll divorce you."

"You can't divorce me until we're married."

"I'll marry you first, then divorce you."

"I'll demand my Dilys Derwent card back during the divorce proceedings. We shall have to sell all gifts given to each other and split the assets. That includes your fluffy mutt, too."

"You play dirty, witch."

"I'm a Slytherin. It's what we do."

He chuckled. "Won't you at least consider looking for a home with me?"

"I've already found one." Narcissa rolled onto her back, turning her head to place a quick kiss on his lips. "The house next to Andromeda's is for sale. It's in a dreadfully Muggle village, but she says four wizarding families live nearby, and she's connected to the Floo Network so traveling is easy. It's small. Only two floors, three bedrooms, one and a half baths. She and I took a tour of it yesterday, out of curiosity. So long as we left the curtains drawn, we could even bring Butters. I couldn't leave her here. She's been with me since birth. She's part of our little family."

He took her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing them to her knuckles, admiring the ring he's bought her back in May. It had a silver band with a round emerald in the center, surrounded by tiny diamonds. Though it was dwarfed by the one from Lucius, which she now wore on the same finger on her opposite hand, it was lovely, and had cost most of what he had in savings at the time, save for what was earmarked for the business. Inside the band he'd had it inscribed with the words _'loved with the whole heart.'_ This had reduced her to (happy) tears. She loved looking at her ring, and was looking forward to becoming his wife, which they'd decided they'd make official sometime after the baby at Narcissa's request.

"I do not wish to be pregnant in our wedding photographs," she'd said.

"Could we not elope and forgo pictures?" he'd asked.

The withering glare she shot him answered _that_ question.

Still, he'd managed to convince her they did not need anything ostentatious or with too many guests, as it was her second wedding and he was generally not fond of being the center of attention. They therefore set the date for New Year's Day, and had invited only her sister and Barnaby, Draco and Hermione, Minerva McGonagall and Fillius Flitwick, and Severus' employees with their significant others: Neville Longbottom with Luna Lovegood and Ambrosia Carrow with Gregory Goyle. Narcissa joked that they should add recently remarried Zinnia (Zabini) Davis to the list, to which Severus replied, "Thank you, but I'd rather be the only one my wife is snogging at our post-wedding party."

The following day, Narcissa told Andromeda that she and Severus were considering buying the house next door.

"I won't object," said Andromeda with a shrug as she set a plate of toast with beans down in front of two-and-a-half-year-old Teddy. "You can't possibly be worse than the last insufferable bitch who lived there."

Narcissa smirked. "Oh? Is that a challenge?"

Far from that lovely little Muggle-heavy neighborhood, Draco and Hermione were visiting her mother. She'd made a picnic lunch and they'd taken it to a nearby park. The twins were running around after a ball, stopping occasionally to take bites of their sandwiches or pop a crisp in their mouths. Jean Granger, Hermione, and Draco spread out on a blanket with their own food.

"Is Dad working today? Why wasn't he home?"

"Hermione." Jean took one of Hermione's hands between her own. "He's moved out. He's moving on."

"What?" Hermione tore her hand away, shooting a panicked look in the direction of her younger siblings before locking eyes with Draco. She was unable to turn back toward her mother. "That can't be!"

"He loves you and he loves the twins but he doesn't..." Her voice cracked on her next words. "We haven't loved each other in the way a husband and wife should in a very long time."

"In other words, he's decided to 'love' someone else, hasn't he?" Hermione dug her fingernails into her thighs unsure of whether she felt greater anger or sadness, and certain she had never in her life felt more betrayed.

"He _is_ seeing someone, yes."

"Since when?"

"May or June. I did not ask for details."

"And how do you feel?" Hermione managed to again set eyes on her mother, but it was difficult. "How do you feel about this?"

"Raising the twins alone won't be easy, but–"

"He's not even going to raise them?!" Hermione's voice rose almost into a shriek. Draco moved closer, putting a comforting hand on her thigh. He did not want her to alarm the little ones, but it seemed they were entirely engrossed in their Muggle football.

"He... helps. Financially. And he visits once per week."

"He only ever wanted one," Hermione sniffled, looking at Draco. "He grew up in a large family and only ever wanted one child, but my mother wanted more."

"And now I have more." She reached for Hermione's hand again. "I love all three of you and we'll manage. I may have to move, though. The house is expensive on one salary, and what your father contributes financially will not be enough to–"

"You could move to Malfoy Manor," said Draco, glancing again at the twins. They'd somehow gotten their ball caught in a tree, but while Orlando whined and stomped around, Ophelia merely reached for it, said "Ball" and watched it float back down to her. Draco would have to ask McGonagall to be sure, but he had a feeling the girl's name was down for Hogwarts, same as her sister. "You could open a practice in Diagon Alley. I'm sure magical folks must have need for teeth, er, things."

"Thank you, dear, but I don't wish to impose."

"There's plenty of space, Mum." Hermione smiled shakily, trying to hold off the sobs into which she wanted to dissolve. "There are nine bedrooms, a library, kitchen and dining room, there's even a wine cellar, though it's empty for the time being."

"I'll think about it," said Jean Granger, clearly placating, but Hermione hoped she genuinely would consider the offer.

The trio went quiet for several minutes, eating and watching the little ones, each adult lost in his or her own thoughts. Hermione broke the silence.

"I hate him."

"Don't hate him." Jean wrapped an arm around her eldest daughter's shoulders. "Marriage is complicated. He didn't leave because he wanted to hurt you. Our mutual fear of hurting you is the reason we stayed married all these years. Draco, surely your parents must have had their share of issues. They were married how long?"

"Twenty-five years. They adored each other, though my father did have one..." Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "One short affair, which he regretted. My mother was devastated to learn of it."

"Did you mother confront him upon learning of it?"

"No." Draco sighed, picking at the bread of his sandwich. "He was already dead."

"I'm sorry."

Draco shrugged, watching Orlando wrench the ball out of Ophelia's tiny hands before knocking her to the ground.

"How is she now?" asked Jean Granger delicately.

"Now? Now she's marrying Father's closest friend and they're expecting a baby next month. But it nearly destroyed her to learn that their perfect marriage hadn't been perfect."

"No marriage is perfect. If ever you two get married – not that I'm pushing for it; you're too young – strive for honesty, love, and respect, not perfection. And be certain before you commit that you want the same things. Your father and I did not talk about the number of children we wanted until we were expecting you, Hermione."

Orlando screamed just then and everyone glanced up to see what he was pointing at. The ball was again in the tree. On the ground, Ophelia giggled madly.

Draco couldn't help smiling. Served the boy right, bullying his sister like that.

"How many children do you want?" asked Jean.

Draco and Hermione answered in unison.

But he said, "Two" and she said "None."

"See?" Jean stood, stretched, and shook the tree branch to free the ball for Orlando. "It's worth discussing."

That night, after dinner, Hermione and Draco settled in the library, playing Wizard's Chess for the first time in months. She was as terrible as always but he went easy on her, letting her play a few more moves than necessary before taking her Queen and Checkmating her King.

"I don't know why I said none," Hermione said softly as Draco prodded the pieces into picking themselves up and resetting for another match. "I think I might like to have a child someday, perhaps even two."

"I did not enjoy being an only child," said Draco. "But I think I'm like Snape. I don't need children to be happy, but I wouldn't say no to one."

"The truth is, I can't think about children _right now_. I've been talking to Neville. His goal is to spend a year or two as Severus' apprentice, then work under Professor Sprout for at least a year or two, then, when she retires, take over Herbology. He's already spoken to both Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall about it. He wants to teach. He asked what I want, and I couldn't tell him. What do I want? I want a career, yes. I want an academic life, I want to learn, but do I want to teach? I don't think I have the disposition or the drive. I like working for Severus, I'm learning loads shadowing him as he experiments and brewing the potions he's requested of me, but do I still want to be his assistant in five years? In ten? Do I wish to return to the Ministry? To the Mentor program? To be an Auror, like Harry? I used to dream about being Minister for Magic, before that year on the run, but now..." She thought about Kingsley, so frequently wanting to do the right thing but being beholden to the whims to the Wizengamot and the will of the greater wizarding community. "I know I wouldn't like a life like Molly Weasley, which was partly why I knew Ronald and I would not work out in the long-term. He wants to marry a witch like his mother, someone to take care of him."

"I can take care of myself, thanks," said Draco. "And if I couldn't, fear not: I have house-elves."

She swatted playfully at his arm. He started their next game.

"What do _you_ want?"

"Once the Wizarding World War Orphans Charity Fund & Care Program no longer needs so much of my time, I think I'd like to travel. My parents traveled frequently when I was small but nearly always left me here with my grandmothers. I've never even been to Paris."

"I love Paris! Have you been to Egypt? I've always wanted to see Egypt."

"No, but my parents went when I was nine, so I've seen photographs."

"In six months, assuming we're still together, let's go to Egypt." She moved her Knight, He shook his head, indicating he thought this was not a smart move.

"Six months after that, we'll go to Paris." He moved his pawn to capture her Knight. Damn it.

"Maybe we'll take my mother and the twins with us to Paris." Hermione grinned. She moved her other Knight. "While we're exploring the catacombs they can go to Disney to meet Minnie Mouse."

"Who?" He captured her second Knight with his Rook, knocking the tiny stone rider right off his horse. "Check."

"Already?" She moved her Queen to take his Bishop, but he didn't seem bothered. On the contrary, he picked up his own Queen and smirked.

"Sorry, Hermione. Checkmate!"


	31. Release

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:**

 **RELEASE**

The morning Hermione Granger turned twenty-one, she awoke in the bed – and arms – of a boy she'd hated during their Hogwarts years... and she was completely content to do so. It was the ninth of September, 2000, approximately six in the morning, and she had only the night before moved permanently into her boyfriend's bedroom, meaning they were now _officially_ living together.

"Sometimes I miss Hogwarts," she said, rolling over onto her side and throwing her body half over his. He smiled in his sleep and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Draco?" she nudged him. "Do you ever miss Hogwarts?"

"Miss Hogwarts."

"Draco!" she gently shook him and when that did nothing to wake him, she 'accidentally' brushed against his groin with her thigh. His morning erection seemed to enjoy this contact, and his eyes fluttered opened in response.

"Morning."

"Morning. Do you ever miss Hogwarts?"

"Hmm? Hogwarts? I was just there one afternoon last week."

"I meant, do you ever miss being a student? I loved it. Studying. Learning. The challenges. The excitement. After the war, the last thing I wanted was more chaos, but I miss having a little excitement in my life. Don't you?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Define excitement."

"Excitement! The unexpected! Intrigue! Danger! Goals! Passion!"

"I didn't have much passion at Hogwarts," he answered, misunderstanding what she meant. "I dated Pansy, remember?"

She sighed and considered explaining, but her thigh was still positioned across his groin and morning was generally their best time together, thus conversation led quickly to kissing which led quickly to shagging.

Unfortunately, though, she left his bed feeling strangely unsatisfied, despite being physically sated. During her shower she closed her eyes and briefly pretended the water was rain... rain during a storm... and that she was outside... her back against a tree... She led her fingers travel from her hip to her thigh to between her legs as she envisioned what it would be like to be wanted like that.

Afterward she went to work, as usual, returned home earlier than usual, changed into more casual attire (gray skirt, white blouse, red jumper) and waited for Draco to be ready to leave. They planned to spend the night of her birthday at Grimmauld Place with friends: Harry and Ginny, Neville and Luna, Goyle and Ambrosia, George and Angelina, and even Ron... who arrived with an attractive dark-haired new girlfriend on his arm.

"This is Astoria Greengrass," Ron announced to the group. "She just got hired to replace Katie Bell as Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet. Katie's the new Madam Hooch at Hogwarts."

"Wasn't she one of the witches your mother wanted you to marry?" whispered Hermione to Draco once Ron and Astoria were distracted by having their coats taken by Kreacher.

"There are four Greengrass sisters. Mother considered pawning me off on any one of them." He sniggered. "I can't wait to tell her the good-looking one ended up with a Weasley."

"So she's the _good-looking_ one, is she?" Hermione shot him a scolding look. He immediately began to apologize but a twinkle in her eye gave her away; she was only pretending to feel threatened.

Neville and Luna arrived next. Luna hugged Ginny hello while Neville accidentally knocked over the umbrella stand, prompting Mrs. Black to start screaming from her portrait.

"Mudbloods! Blood-traitors! Filth!"

Draco chuckled. "I see my great-aunt is as pleasant as she always was."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, turning to him. "I'd forgotten you're related. Does it feel strange, being back here?"

"Not at all. I hardly remember the place. We last visited when I was five or six."

Once Goyle and Ambrosia arrived, Harry led the group to the kitchen. He and Ginny had done all the cooking, explaining that they were taking a weekly class together to get better at it.

"Wow," said Ron, taking in the white linen tablecloth and napkins, tall red and gold candles, and generally cleanliness of the place. "Kreacher's been busy!"

"Kreacher is retired," said Harry, earning a supportive nod from Hermione. "He only helps when he wants to, like taking coats, making tea. He likes to feel useful but we don't want him overworked. Are you all in the right places? Your names are on your crackers."

"Christmas crackers?" asked Neville. "For Hermione's birthday? Excellent!"

Harry had put himself at the head of the long oval table with Ron to his left and Ginny to his right. Beside Ron was Astoria, then Ambrosia, then Goyle. At the opposite end of the table sat Draco, between Goyle and Hermione, with Luna and Neville between Hermione and Ginny. Hermione couldn't help mentally noting that Harry had done a decent job of ensuring everyone sat between and across from people with whom they felt comfortable

"It's not easy to work it in with Quidditch," Ginny said, setting a plate of braised lamb down on the table. "But we need something fun to do together, and we reckoned this would be good, since–"

"Ginny!" Harry cut her off. "We said not tonight."

"Not tonight?" Hermione furrowed her brow. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong!" said Harry.

"The opposite of wrong!" said Ginny.

"But we don't want to, you know, pull focus. From your birthday." Harry shrugged sheepishly. "We haven't even told Ron yet."

"Toll me wha?" asked Ron, his mouth already full.

"Ronald!" scolded Ginny. "Put that roll down! We didn't serve anyone yet!"

"You put it on the table!" exclaimed Ron, as if that negated what his sister had just said. Draco snickered. Beside him, Goyle's mouth was stuffed with bread too. He chewed more slowly upon hearing Ginny's scolding.

"You're keeping a secret," said Luna. "But there are no secrets among friends."

Neville agreed. "She's right. Out with it, then."

"Are you getting married?" guessed Hermione.

"If that's it, it's no great surprise, is it?" asked Luna airily. "Ginny's fancied Harry since first year, and it makes perfect sense that he would fancy her too - she probably subconsciously reminds him of his mother. Men like that." She patted Neville's arm. "Don't you? Your Gran said your mother and I share a unique charm, those were her words, and Harry chose a woman as fiery and fierce and ginger-haired as his mum, and Ron wants a witch to cook and clean and care for him as Mrs. Weasley always has, and Draco... I don't know your mother or Goyle's, but I'm certain there are similarities between them and Hermione and Ambrosia. Aren't there?"

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Draco all pulled disgusted faces at the very notion of ending up married to any woman who might remind them of their mothers, but Goyle nodded and said, "They both like math. I hate math. Math is hard." He reached for a second roll.

There was a moment's pause after this, as no one knew quite what to say. Hermione recovered first.

"Congratulations!" She jumped up to hug her engaged friends. Ginny grinned and hugged back. Harry thanked her and said they expected her to be part of the wedding party. Everyone else, including Draco, offered their congrats as well.

Dinner was perfect. Not the food – the lamb was a little overcooked, the potatoes were a little too lumpy, and the six side dishes neither complimented each other or the main course – but the conversation was wonderful. Everyone laughed and joked and it felt to Hermione almost like they' d all been friends forever, rather than the acquaintances, classmates, strangers, or enemies they'd been less than three years ago.

Hermione didn't talk much through dinner. She was content to listen, to watch her friends, to enjoy feeling like part of a group, like just another twenty-something. Not a war hero, not a protester with an arrest record, not a struggling professional or an out-of-school academic.

Earlier in the day, while brewing in the back of the apothecary under Severus Snape's watchful eye, Hermione had nearly ruined a potion. She let her mind wander while she was supposed to be watching the small hourglass and if Snape hadn't shaken her from her reverie with a sharp-tongue barb, she would have missed the window during which the powdered moonstone could be added, thus rendering the potion useless.

Worse still, the reason she'd been distracted was because she'd been daydreaming about him. About him and Narcissa. About what she'd witnessed nearly a year before, outside against the tree in the rainstorm. The way he'd taken hold of her, the way she'd grasped at him. The way he'd shoved up her skirt, the way she'd caressed his upper body. The way they'd kissed, so desperately, so passionately, with a connection clear enough to be felt far away through a pane of glass by a confused young woman seeking something _more_ than her life and herself.

She was wondering whether she'd ever have a moment like that, a love like that, when the sand in the timer ran out.

"Shit, Granger!" snapped Severus, dashing over. "Where is your head?"

Once he'd prevented her potion from becoming a disaster, Severus sneered at her, stomped back to his own cauldron, and tried to continue his work, but now he could not concentrate. Once his was ready for a Stasis charm, he slammed down his ladle, making her flinch, and with his back to her, said, "Looks can be deceiving, Miss Granger."

"Excuse me?"

"That incident on the edge of the trees. Draco's mother was hurt and angry and broken, and I selfishly allowed myself to lose control, to take control. That moment between us – which you should not have witnessed – was not the great love-fueled connection of two people drawn together as if by a magnet, as you've imagined."

His voice was filled with bitterness. Her cheeks went hot with humiliation. She'd forgotten he was a Legilimens. She'd forgotten that, if he wanted to, he could sense what she was feeling and delve into her mind to discover why. The realization that he knew she'd spent nearly a year fantasizing about that moment, and wishing for one for herself, was perhaps too embarrassing to bear.

He went on.

"I loved her before, but she did not love me until months later – not that it matters. What matters is that you've allowed yourself to take that moment and twist it into representing what it simply should not."

"I am so, so sorry, sir!" Her voice quivered. She was glad he was refusing to look at her, though she wished she could read his expression. Not that he'd let her see even if she was staring straight at him. He was highly adept at hiding his emotions. "Please forgive me, both for... for not turning away, and for... for replaying it."

"I am going to give you a few words of advice, Miss Granger, after which you and I shall not ever speak on this subject again and pretend as though this conversation never took place. Understand?"

"I... I understand." (She did not understand.)

There was a significant pause before his next sentence.

"You think too much."

"Excuse me?"

He sighed as if those four words should have said it all.

"The reason your sex life isn't what you think ours is is _not_ because you do not love each other in the way we do. Though you don't, to be clear. Your age and dearth of experiences precludes you from having what we do. What you have is yours, unlike ours but meaningful and valid in its own way, despite your youth. However, that is inconsequential in regards to physical intimacy."

The hot blush in Hermione's cheeks deepened and spread into her chest, shoulders, and ears. She stared at his back, his rounded shoulders and shoulder-length dark hair, and tried to utilize what little she knew of Occlumency.

"The problem, Miss Granger, is that you think too much. You are completely consumed by your own thoughts, your self-doubt, your incessant need to please and to succeed and to excel as one would on an exam. You are always thinking at least one step ahead; typically, more. This makes you an excellent potions mistress, and, I imagine, a terrible mistress is other areas."

She'd never before felt a blush continue into her fingertips, torso, and toes, but alas – here it was, burning all the way down. A full-body reddening.

"What you witnessed a year ago outside by the lake was not a show of passion or love, but one of release, of giving up and giving in. No forethought, no planning, no consideration of any kind. Passion cannot be planned; it exists in the now. When it comes to..." He cleared his throat. "In regards to the physical, if you want the sort of experience you think you saw, I offer you this simple advice: when the moment presents itself, stop bloody over-thinking and enjoy it. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Good." He picked up his ladle. "And whatever you do, for the love of Merlin, do _not_ fucking fantasize about your boss and your boyfriend's mother while you're at work. That makes me as uncomfortable as this conversation makes you."

"Yes, sir," she said quietly, staring intently down at the bubbling potion within her cauldron. He lifted the Stasis on his own concoction and continued on with his work. Taking her cue from him, she did the same, but before she left for the day she finally managed to resume eye-contact.

"For what you said earlier, Professor Snape... thank you."

"I do not know to what you're referring, Miss Granger," he said. "That conversation never happened."

"Of course." She gathered her things. "See you tomorrow." She was nearly out the door when he called to her.

"Hermione? Happy birthday."

Hermione thought back on it now, sitting at the table with friends, everyone talking, laughing. No one was over-thinking. No one was worrying or planning, asking 'what's next?' or dwelling on what had already been.

Everyone else was living in the moment.

She needed to do the same.

George and Angelina arrived in time for pudding, explaining that this was their first night out since the birth of their son, Freddy, the month before. After eating, everyone retired to the large sitting room with the Black family tapestry on the wall, where Ginny made fun of the terribly painted portrait of toddler Draco.

"What a hideous little gnome!" said Ginny, tapping the pointed red hat painted onto the youngest Black relative's head.

"He was adorable!" argued Hermione, jumping to his defense even though her boyfriend agreed with Ginny. "I've seen photographs! Trust me!"

"I hated that bloody hat!" said Draco. "It took hours to paint that tiny picture and I was supposed to sit still and wait. When I got up for the hundredth time my grandmother whipped me with a spell of her own invention and used a sticking charm to keep me on the couch, that's why my eyes look puffy and my cheeks are red. I'd been sobbing!"

"Poor privileged baby Malfoy," said Harry in a joking tone. "Even my aunt and uncle never beat me for not sitting for a portrait. Of course, they also never took my picture. Easier to pretend I didn't exist without photographic evidence. Or portraits."

"Were they awful then?" asked Draco, serious now. "The Muggles who raised you?"

Harry shrugged. "Haven't seen or spoken to them since the war and I'd bet they're better for it."

Neville changed the subject then, in an attempt to keep the evening conversation from growing too heavy, which wasn't too difficult - thanks in combination to the delightful dinner and the elf-made wine and firewhiskey, everyone was in a jovial mood. Harry lit a fire in the sitting room as Ginny switched on the Wizarding Wireless Network, which was blaring out the newest tune by the Weird Sisters. Then Ron suggested a game.

"We played it as a highly-ranked Quidditch team, getting to know each other, to build a camaraderie that would help us play better as a highly-ranked Quidditch team," he said, never one to miss the opportunity to mention his status as a member of a highly-ranked Quidditch team. "You start with five fingers up. One person says, 'Never I have ever,' then lists something they've never done, and anyone who's done it puts down one finger. We go around the circle with everyone having a turn to say something they've never done. When all your fingers are down, you drink a shot of gigglewater. Drunkest wins. Or loses. There's really no winner. You play until you're too pissed to keep playing."

"Where are we going to get gigglewater?" asked Ginny. "I've never seen it outside the United States, when the Harpies were playing over there." (She liked reminding people of her professional Quidditch status too).

"Guess what I brought?" he reached into a bag beside the couch and pulled out two massive glass bottles.

"It's your birthday," said Harry, looking to Hermione. "Want to play?"

"Alright." She hoped Draco wouldn't mind. She'd never played a drinking game before – this was the sort of thing older students who neglected their studies did in secret in corners of the Common Room at Hogwarts – but the thought of doing something somewhat naughty suddenly appealed to her. She was still young, she reminded herself. Twenty-one years of age, but acting twice that most of the time. She thought back to Severus Snape's words in the apothecary the day before: _Stop bloody over-thinking and enjoy it._ That was precisely what she intended to do.

"Alright?" asked Ginny.

"Alright," Hermione repeated. "Let's play!"

Once everyone had a shot glass of gigglewater in front of him or her, Ron started, since he'd suggested the game.

"Never have I ever snogged a bloke," he said. Every witch in attendance put down one finger, and Ginny glared at her brother George when he suggested she put down "at least two."

"Never have I ever snogged a witch," said Astoria Greengrass, sitting beside him, smiling smugly.

Every wizard put down a finger... as did Ginny.

"Bloody hell," she cursed, glaring at Ron like it was his fault. George guffawed while Ron went slightly green.

"That's my little sister!" boasted George. "She's an equal opportunity snogger. Mum and Dad are so proud!"

"Give it a good one, Neville," said Ginny. "Make George and Ron suffer."

"Never have I ever seen a Weasley naked," said Neville, grinning as Hermione, Harry, George, Ginny, Ron, Angelina, and Astoria each lost a finger.

"Never have I ever suffered the effects of an infestation of Nargles," said Luna dreamily, as it was her turn next. Everyone glanced around the circle, most trying not to snicker, until Neville sweetly put one finger down out of the need to be supportive of his girlfriend.

"Never have I ever been pregnant," said George, winking at Angelina.

She and Goyle's girlfriend, Ambrosia, both put down a finger.

"It was before I met him," explained Snape's shop clerk in a whisper, averting anyone's gaze. "I lost it."

Hermione and Angelina immediately offered their sympathy, followed by that of the others, but Ambrosia shook her head.

"Let's keep going," she insisted, waving them on. "Do a fun one."

"Never have I ever lost an ear!" said Angelina, grinning wickedly at George.

"What's that?" asked George, cupping his hand around the spot where his ear used to be. "Can't hear you!" But he put down his third finger.

It was Ambrosia's turn next. Shyly, she said, "Never have I ever taken Polyjuice Potion."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville put down a finger for this.

"We had to brew it for Snape last month," said Neville. "He made us try each other's potions to be sure they work. I had to be Hermione and she was me. For an hour. It was... er..."

"Sounds like Snape is as pleasant now as he was at Hogwarts," said Ron. "Can't imagine working for the old bat."

"He's not bad," said Neville. "I'm hardly even afraid of him anymore."

"I like him," said Hermione defensively. "As does Draco."

Draco shrugged. "I liked him more before he started shagging my mother."

"Stop it!" Hermione tapped his knee. "He treats her very well and you know it. Now, whose turn is it?"

"Gregory's," said Ambrosia. "Go on, love."

"Never have I ever... er..." Goyle glanced at Draco, who was seated beside him. "Never have I ever been branded with the Dark Mark."

"Well, that seems oddly specific," said Draco, shooting his best friend a look of annoyance as he put down a finger. Goyle grunted an apology.

"Couldn't think of nothing!"

"You, unable to think of something?" asked Draco. "Shocking."

"Be nice!" scolded Hermione. Ambrosia patted Goyle's hand sympathetically.

"Make the game more interesting, Malfoy," requested George, grinning and cracking his knuckles. "You're up next and I want to leave here tonight with blackmail-worthy information about at least two of you."

"Very well..." Draco tapped into one of his own fantasies for his offering. "Never have I ever gone to bed with more than one person at the same time."

"Damn it, now I've only got one finger left!" lamented Ginny, who immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I'm learning much too much about you tonight, Gin!" exclaimed George, but Hermione noticed he'd put one finger down too, as had Angelina. And Harry.

"That's disgusting!" shouted Ron. "What's wrong with you, Ginny?"

"I thought you _liked_ that," said Astoria. "You keep telling me you want to try–"

" _I_ want to try it!" said Ron. "I don't want to know it's already been tried by my _sister!"_

"Well done, Potter," said Draco, smirking. Harry was managing to balance looking proud and embarrassed at the same time.

"My turn!" said Hermione.

"Let me guess – never I have ever earned a mark below an E, and we'll _all_ have to drink!" teased Ginny.

" _I've_ never earned a mark below an E," said Luna.

"I was _not_ going to say that!" Hermione bristled, but the truth was, she had been planning to say something quite similar. Deciding to get back at Ginny for her little quip, Hermione said, "Be prepared to drink, Gin. Never have I ever had oral sex in the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower!"

This cost a finger for George, Angelina, Astoria, Draco, Ambrosia, Ron, and, to everyone's surprise, Neville, as Ginny became the first to do a shot of gigglewater, which, as the name would suggest, looked like water but was comprised of a magical alcohol that forced a high giggle out of her.

The game took a twisted turn from there.

By the time each participant was at least two shots in, save for Angelina and George who'd had to return home to their baby before getting pissed, Hermione was in a delightful state of inebriation she'd never before known. She wasn't drunk, not yet, but she felt a strange, warm sort of euphoria tickling over her, making everything funnier than it should be, and loosening her tongue.

"Never I have ever caught Professor Snape shagging Draco's mum!" she said, punctuated by a hiccup.

"You had to remind me?" said Draco, putting down a finger with a shudder.

"Oh, wait, I forgot!" Hermione giggled again, a very un-Hermione like giggle. "I _did_ see that once! Reckon it's time to drink again!"

"You might have had enough to drink," said Draco gently, taking her now-empty shot glass and placing it beside his own.

"We could play a different game," said Ginny. "One we'd play sometimes when all locked in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. That's when I first kissed a witch. You remember, Neville?"

"Oh, that!" It was his turn to go slightly pink but being almost as far gone as Hermione, he wasn't embarrassed enough not to admit it. "Yeah, let's."

"Spin the bottle," explained Luna, who, despite having also had two shots, did not seem the least bit effected by the alcohol. "You spit a bottle and kiss the person the head points to when it stops, witch or wizard, but you do not have to kiss them on the mouth."

"Exceptions made for siblings?" asked Ron. "I am not kissing Ginny."

"Why not?" asked Draco. "It seems everyone else has."

It was indicative of how silly and tipsy everyone present (save for Luna) had become, because no one considered this an affront to Ginny's honor. On the contrary, she and Harry laughed the hardest.

Hermione spun first, as it was her birthday. It landed on Harry, she kissed his cheek, and she tried not to get too much enjoyment out of the possessive quality that took over Draco's thin, pale face. Harry spun next and got Ginny, who threw her arms around his neck and snogged him properly. She then spun and it landed on Ron. They shook hands. He got Luna and kissed her hand like a nobleman greeting a princess, then Luna spun and got Draco. She kissed his forehead. Draco's spin went right to Ginny. Respectfully, he attempted a kiss on the cheek as Hermione had given Harry, but Ginny grabbed his face between her hands, said "We're friends now!" and pressed her closed lips to his. When he sat back beside Hermione he asked in a whisper whether this bothered her, but she assured him she understood it was nothing but a game.

She was living in the moment, as Snape said she should.

She was also living in the moment when Goyle kissed Draco's forehead, when Ginny kissed Neville's nose, and when Ambrosia kissed Luna's cheek.

And she was _still_ living in the moment twelve spins and three shots later, when her spin landed on Astoria. The dark-haired, pureblood witch had already kissed Ginny on the mouth and Hermione couldn't help noticing that her dear boyfriend seemed to be committing the image to memory as he watched.

She couldn't have that.

Her best friend's girlfriend and her boyfriend's would-be wife (had his mother manage to get him betrothed) could not become for Draco the sort of fantasy-evoking moment Professor Snape and Mrs. Malfoy by the tree had become for her.

Which is why she threaded her fingers into Astoria's silky hair, leaned in close with eyes closed, and let her lips brush against that of the younger witch.

Perhaps it was the gigglewater, perhaps it was the headiness of the evening, perhaps it was the need to regain Draco's full attention, or perhaps it was to prove to everyone she'd done more in her life than never receive a grade below an E, but when Astoria's lips slightly parted, Hermione's tongue darted in.

 _Stop bloody over-thinking and enjoy it._

Astoria was responding. She moaned into Hermione's mouth as a hand went to her hip. Hermione pushed back against her, tasting the sweet gigglewater and dry wine on her tongue and the fruity gloss on her lips. Astoria's hand moved from Hermione's hip to her arse and now Hermione was the one responding, acting on nothing but instinct, as she drew her hand up to rest just under the other witch's breast. She let her thumb run along the underside as the kiss deepened and Astoria moaned again. Hermione proceeded to snog her senseless, kissing her over and over as a feeling of heat built in her lower belly and a pulsating tug became evident between her legs. Astoria tightened her grip on Hermione's bum, pulling her closer until they were flush against each other, their breasts touching, the front of their hips touching. A clock chimed somewhere far off and Hermione suddenly remembered who she was, where she was, and doing what. She attempted to retreat, but before parting, Astoria flicked her tongue against Hermione's lower lip, indicating she was not as ready to be done. When both were seated back in their spots in the circle, Astoria whispered a disingenuous "Sorry" to Ron, who looked as though Christmas came early, while tomato-faced Hermione could not bear to look at Draco.

"I think we need to leave," said Draco. "We rarely drink and have, perhaps, overindulged this evening."

Hermione nodded, wondering how he could sound so calm and grounded while she felt like she was filled with helium... helium and shame. They said a quick goodnight to their friends and went to collect their coats. Hermione glanced back into the sitting room before departing to find Astoria now tongue-to-tongue with Ginny to the obvious amusement of most of the others, though Goyle looked as though he may have passed out and Luna was reaching for a book on the shelf behind her.

What would it be like, Hermione pondered, to live as freely as Ginny? To be confident and casual, to act for pleasure and for fun rather than only after strategically planning every moment in her mind, ruminating over what could go wrong and what the post-action complications could be? To do what she wanted when and where she wanted to, for no purpose other than to enjoy herself?

Draco tugged at her wrist, drawing her into the hall, but they did not head for the door.

Instead, he pressed two fingertips along the wall and ran them down as if tickling the spine of The Monster Book of Monsters, then took out his wand and tapped a knot in the wood three times.

And a door presented itself.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"Shhh," said Draco. He opened the door and pulled her inside a small, dark alcove. He tapped his wand to a sconce above her head, slighting the candle. The door closed behind them, disappearing entirely.

Hermione barely had time to register her surrounding in the dim light – walls on three sides, stairs leading downward to her right – before his mouth was on hers. He pressed her roughly against the wall behind her, his back to the now-disappeared door.

"I'm sorry we had to leave," he growled upon parting. He was still holding her wrist. He dropped it between them and thrust forward. She could feel his hardness against her palm. "But I need you. Now."

"You... like that? With Astoria?"

"You're serious?" He released her wrist. She did not move her hand away. On the contrary, she brushed her fingers against his tented trousers, enjoying the way his cock twitched upon connection.

Something in Hermione sobered. Her rational mind took over. Should she ask what specifically turned him on? Was it seeing her with another woman, or was it the identity of other woman? Did he wish he'd been betrothed to Astoria, a witch comfortable enough with herself to be, right at this very moment, fooling around with another witch with an audience of wizards simply for the fun of it? Did he wish he had a woman like Ginny, bold and brash and unafraid of anything, least of all losing her reputation? Did he wish he had...?

"You," he said between kissed to her clavicle. He was removing her blouse, desperate to touch her bare skin. "I've never seen you look like that. So... free."

Free, she realized, because she hadn't considered what she was doing while she was doing it. _Stop bloody over-thinking and enjoy it._

"I stopped thinking," said Hermione, entangling her hands in the back of his long hair, which had, at some point, come loose from its low ponytail. He pulled off her jumper, tossing it aside, and removed his own shirt and their lips met over and over. "I simply stopped thinking."

"It suits you." He swiveled her around, pushing her front flat against the wall, and jerked against her from behind. His cock pressed into her lower back and she thrust her arse against him wantonly. His hand found its way between her legs, under her skirt, over her knickers, where were already dampening.

"What are you going to do to me?" she murmured. "Anyone could hear us."

"Yeah," he growled, slipping two fingers inside her knickers while envisioning the rest of the group in the sitting room. He was unaware of how very much like his father he was in the moment. " _Anyone_ could hear us."

"We could get caught."

He groaned, his free hand sliding up her blouse to her bare breast; she'd forgone a bra. "How far would you have let her go? What if she wanted to touch you... to do this?" He ran his thumb across her nipple which hardened under his touch. "Would you let her? Would you let me watch?"

"Is that... would you like to?" She was trying to think about his words and his actions and nothing more – not to ask herself whether he'd prefer Astoria, not to wonder whether she'd ever be able to look Ron in the face again, not to insist they wait until they could find themselves in a more private location...

"How did it feel? Snogging another witch?" his lips went to her neck and began to suck. She squirmed, trying to nonverbally guide his fingers from between her folds to inside her. "Hermione?"

"She tasted like cherries. Her hair is silky. Her lips are soft. I would... I could..." She moaned as he ground the front of his hips against the back of hers, causing his erection to dig more deeply into her backside. "Would you want to watch me kiss her? Would you want to watch her touch me?"

He answered with a half-growl, half-groan, spun her around, and tore open her blouse, sending tiny buttons flying in all directions.

"Fuck, I need you, Hermione. I need you. This is what you do to me." He took her hand and placed it on his cock on the outside of his trousers. Her breath hitched in her throat. He wanted her, needed her. Now. Desperately. She could hear Severus' voice in her head.

 _Passion cannot be planned. It exists in the now._

"What do you want to do to me?" she asked, her hands working to free him from the confines of his remaining clothing. "Tell me."

"I want to touch you, to taste you." Finally, finally one of his fingers slid inside her, followed by a second. "I want to make you want to call my name. I want them to hear you."

"On your knees," she ordered, taking charge where she usually deferred to him. Without question, he obeyed. She slung one leg over his shoulder and threaded her hand into his hair. "What if she were willing to do this? Would you want to watch?"

He answered by burying his face between her legs, flicking his tongue against her sensitive bud, taking it into his mouth and sucking hard. She held onto the wall behind her for support, afraid her knee would give out and leave her collapsed on the floor in a puddle. She had no actual interest in having anything to do with Astoria – or any other witch – in the bedroom (or on a sitting room floor, for that matter) but she loved this reaction from him, loved knowing it was such a turn-on and that, in this at least, she had all the control.

"Do you suppose she tastes like cherries there, too?" she asked, her voice low and throaty.

He responded with another low groan. He was painfully hard, but willing to wait to have her until after she'd been sufficiently pleased. It was, after all, _her_ birthday.

He returned his first and middle fingers to her slick quim, pumping in and out of her while his tongue worked over her clit, until she was bucking against his face, crying out, quivering and shaking as her orgasm built and built and finally erupted. She dug her nails into the back of his head as it washed over her, her eyes closed, her back slamming against the wall as she fucked his face unforgivingly, seeking that release, not only physically, but mentally. Emotionally. Released in every way.

When he stood she placed the leg that had been over his shoulder on the floor, but it was too weak to hold her up. Thankfully, he was up to the task. He lifted her and impaled her on his cock, trapping her body between his and the wall, and began thrusting his hips, filling her, freeing her.

"I love you!" she declared, unable to think of anything else to say as her brain became blissfully empty, overcome by the sensations - her back scraping against the wall, his hips between her thighs, his cock pummeling her core, one of his hands on her arse, the other around her waist, her own hands tangled in his hair. He lifted her higher to take one breast into his mouth, moving his tongue around the areola, flicking it against the bud in the center, biting down, causing pleasure mixed with pain that made her cry out again, and then sucking, hard.

They were boring, she realized. That's what was missing in their relationship. Being his mentor, teaching him to be accepting and accepting tutelage from him, too, was exciting. Planning the Ministry rally with W.W.A.M.M., and letting him join in on it, knowing they were in it together for better or worse, was exciting. Exploring each other and having sex for the first time – for the first hundred times – was exciting. But as they'd settled into couplehood, focused on finding jobs and a purpose and molding their lives into something grownup and respectable, that was not exciting. It was satisfying in other ways, but not exciting.

Playing Spin the Bottle with friends was exciting.

Seeing his reaction to watching her kiss another witch was exciting.

Fucking in a secret passageway knowing anyone could potentially hear them was exciting.

And though nothing about this had been planned out, practical, or purposeful, it was indeed passionate... and precisely what she'd been missing.

It was her 'against the tree in the rain' moment.

 _Shut up, Hermione!_ she mentally ordered herself. _Stop bloody over-thinking and enjoy it!_

He lowered her, letting her settle with her pelvis even with his, now hitting her at a new and equally pleasing angle. She gasped with each thrust, her breasts bouncing, as her lips found his. His movements became increasingly erratic and when he let out the groan that meant he was on the brink, it was enough to send her over the edge again, careening toward their mutual release.

He came inside her as she screamed ("Fuck, Draco, yes!") without any consideration for who might hear.

Her orgasm ebbed as he struggled to catch his breath, completely spent. After a few seconds, he set her down and relaxed his weight against her, letting the wall hold them both up.

Eventually they used a spell to clean themselves up, redressed, and put out the light. Draco freed them from the secret passageway and they were nearly to the door when Harry stepped out into the hall.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," he said, barely concealing a smirk. Ginny appeared behind him, also hiding a grin. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glistened. She was clearly drunker than Harry, Hermione, or Draco.

"Yes, happy birthday," she said. "So glad you _came_."

Ginny half-collapsed into a fit of giggles, ushered back into the sitting room by Harry, while Draco and Hermione quickly retrieved their coats from the closed and hurried to the front step, from which they could apparate, embarrassed but also self-satisfied. The pair stumbled into Malfoy Manor well after two in the morning, laughing and holding hands and feeling more carefree than either could remember since before the war.

"Draco?" called Narcissa from the kitchen. "It's late."

"Mother!" He kissed Hermione's cheek and went into the kitchen to find his mother sitting at the table, a cup of tea in front of her. "You're supposed to be on bed rest. Where is Severus?"

"Asleep. I tried to sleep too, but eventually I gave up. You two are out late. You had a nice time?"

"Very nice." He glanced at Hermione, still in the hall, and tried not to say anything more. She blew him a kiss and staggered tipsily toward the stairs, her coat hanging open, her hair a frazzled mess, her shoes in her hand.

"I have a birthday gift for your girlfriend." Narcissa indicated for him to sit, but he did not move. She placed a rectangular book, cover-side down, on the table.

"Shall I call her in?"

"No, love. You should give her this gift. It's for both of you, really. Your auntie Bella gave it to me when I was around your age."

"Auntie gave you a book and you want Hermione to have it?"

She gestured again to the chair. "Please, sit."

"I... I'm rather tired. I want to get to bed." (Exhaustion wasn't the reason he was looking forward to bed and they both knew it.)

"Only for a minute. Oblige me. It's the least you can do. I carried you inside me for nine–"

"Fine! I'll sit." He did. He reached for the book but she placed her hand atop his, not ready for him to know what it was.

"Severus and I are Legilimens, you remember that, don't you?"

"Of course."

"So we frequently know what you're thinking."

He immediately tried to employ Occlumency to keep her out, but alcohol consumption made the magic considerably more difficult to master.

"I'd forgotten that secret passage was there," she said, having seen a flash of the two of them against the wall at Grimmauld Place. "It leads to the master bedroom."

Draco covered his eyes with his hands as if that might keep her out of his thoughts.

"You know, your father and I had an incredible sex life."

"Mother!" Draco uncovered his face and blanched. "I had an enjoyable evening. Let's not ruin it!"

"Did your father discuss sex with you, darling? Not the basics, I know he told you where babies come from, but did he give you any advice? Explain the nuances, emphasize the importance of the mental as well as the physical...?"

"Not only did he discuss sex with me, Mother, but his very last words were, 'Don't let your mother talk to you about sex, son; she'll scar you for life.'"

She laughed, set down her mug, and placed both hands on her greatly expanded midsection.

"Little baby, I hope you'll not be the sort of child who lies to your mother as your older brother does, especially when she is trying to help you."

"Mother." Draco fought the urge to melodramatically roll his eyes. "Must we have this discussion now?"

"Hermione gave us Stages of Grief and it has helped us both immensely, has it not? Now I hope this shall help the two of you, my way of returning the favor. You may not wish to tell her that it originally came from Bella, though."

She finally allowed him to pick it up and read the title. She'd been inspired to share it with him after learning from Severus about Hermione's secret fantasy. While she'd never say it to her son, she couldn't help thinking if the poor swot was obsessively replaying that moment in her mind, there must not be much of anything interesting going on in their bedroom. And while she never would have approved of his even having sex two years ago (hell, she barely stomached it one year ago) she hated to see her sweet son suffer from a stagnant, vanilla life. Besides, after all she'd been through over the last few years, Narcissa reckoned Girl Potter deserved better too.

"The Kama Sutra for Adventurous Wizards and Witches: An Illustrated Guide. Merlin's balls, what _is_ this?" He opened it and flipped about a third of the way through, caught site of two hand-drawn characters in a compromising position atop a magic carpet, and promptly slammed the cover closed. "MOTHER!"

"You're welcome." She pressed her palms to the table top and stood, then put one hand to her aching lower back, shuffling toward the door. She paused to kiss Draco on the top of his head before heading into the hall. Over her shoulder, she called, "Goodnight, love!"

"Goodnight, Mother!" he called back, still scandalized.

But he stayed at the table flipping through the book until he was certain she'd reached her room... and then he headed to his own bedroom with the intention of introducing Hermione to Page 38.

They needed a little more excitement in their lives, after all.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hope nobody was bothered by a little t-rated Astoria/Hermione action and subsequent citrus. Draco certainly wasn't, but I understand some readers may not be as excited about it as he was. (lol)

Originally this chapter was told in three parts, but each one was about 7000 words long, and it just became too much – especially as they didn't really fit together, thus I've had to split them in order for the fic to flow properly. Which means this fic will have 34 chapters now rather than 32 as I've planned. I hope nobody minds!

As a teaser, below is a brief excerpt from the next chapter.

If you don't want to know anything, skip it. If you do decide to read it... enjoy! The next chapter was one of my favorites to write, even though it's much heavier than most.

As always, thanks times a thousand for reading and reviewing! I love each and every response this fic gets, especially because so many of you really go in-depth with your reactions and I love knowing what you think!

 **-AL**

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 **Chapter 32 Excerpt:**

"She could die," said Severus quietly. He slumped to the floor, his back against the wall, and buried his face in his hands. Draco turned away, not wanting anyone to see that his eyes were brimming with tears. Flitwick patted his arm sympathetically. Though it was no easy task for Minerva, she settled on the floor beside her friend, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"She is strong, Severus. She'll survive."

"What of the baby?" When he turned to Minerva, she saw a desperate, haunted expression across his face she'd only seen once before – when they'd battled at Hogwarts, or, more accurately, when she'd shot spell after spell at him only for him to deflect until he'd flown from the window. She knew now that he hadn't wanted to attack her then, but he couldn't give up his position. He couldn't reveal his true loyalties.

Now, his eyes were filled with fear.

"You made the right choice."

"She may not think so," he whispered. "She may not be able to go on if... if she loses... she's already lost... she may not be strong enough for..." He couldn't finish a single sentence, not one of them, for to put into words his greatest fear would make it seem real, a real possibility. She'd lost a baby before, and her sister, and her son, and now, after she'd come so far, to lose another... especially like this...

"They won't let her die," insisted Minerva with more confidence than she felt. "They won't let her die and they won't let the baby die."

"She can't die," he whispered. "If she dies..."

"I'll be an orphan," said Draco, staring down at them. "If she dies, I'll be an orphan."


	32. Hope

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO:**

 **HOPE**

 **17 September, 2000**

Narcissa recognized the contractions for what they were right away, but she didn't want to worry Severus. He was meeting a potential investor about an experimental potion he'd been trying to develop and he'd been preparing for weeks. He would be home in time for lunch, he said, so she reckoned it could wait. With Draco, she'd been having contractions for what felt like forever before hard labor really set in. She couldn't recall her water breaking twenty years ago, but she was certain it had happened after she'd been feeling the familiar clench and release for at least a few hours.

It was a Wednesday. Hermione was at work, as usual, holding down the shop for the day, while Draco was checking in on one of the families that adopted orphans – Dean Thomas and his new bride, Katie Bell, who had taken in little Colin Cresswell, nearly four. They were the youngest to put in to adopt, younger than the required age of twenty-five, but they were given special consideration on account of the fact Dean had been on the run with Dirk Cresswell, Colin's father, until the man was killed. The boy had been left with his Auror mother then, but she was murdered by Rabanstan Lestrange shortly before the end of the war, leaving him with no one. Now Dean and Katie lived near Hogsmeade, allowing her an easy commute to Hogwarts to referee Quidditch matches and teach flying to First Years, while Dean worked at Dervish and Banges.

The Ministry had their own personnel to do monthly checks on each adoptive family, but Draco insisted upon doing the same, as he didn't entirely trust the Ministry to do their due diligence... plus, he enjoyed seeing how much happier and healthier the children were with their new families than they'd been in orphanages.

Severus had initially intended to only take the morning off for the meeting, but with Narcissa's due date set at "any day now" he'd taken to returning home at lunch, just in case, and on this day he decided to skip the afternoon altogether, as luck would have it.

Luck, because it was lucky he returned to Malfoy Manor shortly after noon.

"I didn't want to... summon you," Narcissa said, wincing in pain. "But contractions are... more... intense now. Tried Andromeda... didn't answer Floo call..."

"I expect she's at work." He rushed to his fiancée's side. She was in the rocker in what used to be the nursery, though they had the bassinet in their bedroom for now and were planning to move into their new home next door to Andromeda on the first of October.

"I hurt... Severus... It hurts."

"I know." He kissed her temple and helped her into a standing position. "We'll go by Knight Bus."

Though Knight Bus was an uncomfortable way to travel, and not ideal in Muggle-populated areas, it was safer for witches in the eighth and ninth month than Floo Network, Portkey, or Apparition.

"I can... do it... here..." Her breathing was appropriately labored. She held onto her swollen belly tightly as if to keep the baby in, though she knew it would not be long until it was ready to come out. She felt a trickle of moisture on her inner thigh. "Water breaking... summon Butters. We can... do this... together."

"We have discussed this, Narcissa. Birthing at home may be safe for some, but it is not ideal for you."

She'd been on bed rest since the end of August, when she'd experienced some cramping and spotting. Both the St. Mungo's Healer and the midwife agreed that she would be safest to have the child in hospital rather than at home, as she'd done with Draco.

"Butters is ready!" The house-elf apparated into the room with a POP. "Butters has boiled water! Butters has clean towels! Butters will–"

"No, Butters," said Severus in a no-nonsense tone. "We are taking the Knight Bus to St. Mungo's. Now."

He helped Narcissa to her feet, guided her past the apparition point (as the bus could get no closer), and stuck out his wand, hoping he did not have to be on the actual road for this to work.

In the time they were waiting, he ordered Butters to the apothecary to inform Hermione, then sent a message to Draco – wherever he might be – via Patronus. It was the first time he'd cast it since the war, and he was as shocked as Narcissa to see the silvery four-legged, fluffy-eared corporeal figure bounding across the yard before dissipating.

"The dog?" she exclaimed. "Your Patronus... is... the dog?! When I fell in love... with you... my Patronus went from a peacock to a bat... and yours is _the dog?"_

Hearing the familiar word, Duchess slipped through the recently-Transfigured doggy door, yipping, sending several albino peacocks in all directions as they sought to avoid the over-active puppy. Severus immediately called for Skittle, the youngest house-elf. to bring her back inside, much to the cocker spaniel's disappointment. Duchess was used to going almost everywhere with Snape.

"Severus! Has it always..." (breathing evenly was a challenge) "...been a dog?"

"No, my Patronus was not a dog before," he said. "It was a doe."

"A doe? That's... feminine." Her breathing was labored and she could not stand up straight. He helped her to a stone bench, hoping the damn bus would arrive soon. He sat beside her, rubbing her back in slow circles, letting her grip his free hand between her own.

"Why was...? Oh." Realization hit her. "It was _her_ , wasn't it? Something related to... her?"

They rarely spoke of Lily anymore and when they did, Narcissa seemed unable to speak her name. He could tell, even without Legilimency, that jealousy was the reason, but she needn't feel jealous. He loved her in ways he could never have imagined loving Lily. Being in love and being obsessed were not the same, and he now recognized he was only ever the latter with his former friend.

"My Patronus and hers were identical, yes. But hers was only a doe because _his_ was a stag. _You_ gave me the dog, Narcissa. You gave me the dog because you wanted to make me happy, because as a child, a dog symbolized a happiness I'd never known. Now, because of you, I know that happiness. The dog is for the dog as much as it is for you."

She opened her mouth to reply, but a particularly powerful contraction hit then, so all she could do was clasp his hand and cry out with pain. The bus came into view mere seconds later, skidding to a stop before them, scattering the peacocks again.

Stan Shunpike, formerly labeled a Death Eater and one of Hermione's first Ministry Mentees, was the conductor, with old Ernie at the wheel. Severus quickly described the situation, one they'd seen before, and with a nod from Ern', the bus disappeared and reappeared in London, not far from St. Mungo's. They were dropped off under the cover of a disillusionment charm, shouted "Maternity!" at the mannequin, and hurried inside, revealing themselves before stopping at the front desk.

"Welcome to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. How may I help you?" asked the bored-sounding witch, not glancing up from her crossword puzzle.

"I'm having a baby, you bitch. Put down that bloody quill and help me!"

"Oh!" Andromeda's head snapped up, meeting her sister's gaze. "Cissy! You're having the baby now?"

"No, not right at this second, but I thought I'd come in anyway!" Narcissa winced and groaned as a particularly strong contraction took over.

Andromeda waved her wand, summoning down the necessary personnel.

"Well, so long as it's not right this second... and since you're here, what's an eleven letter word for 'ghost-like nuisance'?

"Does Andromeda have eleven letters?" snapped Narcissa, now doubled over from pain.

"No, only nine."

"You could be more helpful, Andromeda!" griped Severus, holding Narcissa while glaring at her sister.

"So could you. Come on! Eleven letters, ghost-like nuisance. _Apparition_...? No, that's only ten."

Just then, Healer Octavian Clearwater approached them, followed closely by Esmé Sarkisian, the midwife.

"This way, Mrs. Malfoy, Master Snape," said the Healer. "Mrs. Malfoy, are you able to walk, or shall we levitate you?"

"I'll walk."

Severus helped her do so. They'd just reached the lift when he called out to Andromeda.

"The word you seek is POLTERGEIST."

"Ah, _poltergeist_! Of course!" She scribbled it down with her quill. "Thank you!"

They stepped into the lift. Before the doors closed, Andromeda called out to them again.

"Octavian? Take care of my sister!"

Draco was leaving Dean and Katie's home, satisfied that little Colin Cresswell Bell-Thomas was happy in their care, when he received the message by Patronus.

 _Your mother is in labor. I have taken her to St. Mungo's._

Short and to the point, typical Snape.

Draco apparated to Hogsmeade to inform Hermione (he was unable to send messages by Patronus. Hell, he wasn't certain he could actually form a corporeal Patronus). She told him she already knew, told him to give his mother her best, and promised she'd head there as soon as the shop closed for the day. Draco kissed her quickly, said goodbye to Ambrosia and Neville, then hurried off on his way to London.

They were in her private hospital room: the Healer, the midwife, Severus, and Narcissa. She was on her back in the bed, her ankles suspended by invisible stirrups, her legs parted so the Healer could reach between them.

Severus, having been a spy, was highly adept at picking up on subtleties in others' words and actions that other wizards and witches had a tendency to miss, which why he realized something was wrong before Narcissa did.

"What is it?" he demanded of the Healer, who turned to him with his mouth in a wide O. Octavian Clearwater was a robust man with salt-and-pepper hair, a thick mustache, and a glowing reputation. Midwife Sarkisian, a woman in her late sixties with pale green eyes and tanned skin, had delivered Draco. Though Severus and Narcissa had confidence in their abilities, he suddenly felt sick with worry.

"A slight... complication," said Healer Clearwater. "But not one that should alarm you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Stop calling me Mrs. Malfoy," snapped Narcissa. "What sort of complication?"

"Your blood pressure is high, that's all," said the midwife. "But the last thing we need now is for you to feel any stress. We have unwrapped the umbilical cords from around the necks of countless babies–"

"WHAT?" Narcissa tried unsuccessfully to sit up. Severus coaxed her back down.

"As I said, a minor complication," explained the Healer, but both Severus and Narcissa now knew that he was not being entirely candid with them.

Draco arrived, but he was not permitted entrance into the room. Severus stepped out to speak with him only briefly, and when he returned, it was to find the situation more dire. Narcissa was breathing heavily and crying, gritting her teeth with pain. Her blood pressure remained high. It hadn't been like this with Draco. As far as she could recall.

"We may have to cut the baby out," the Healer was saying.

"Not yet," said the midwife. "Give her the chance to do it naturally. The baby needs the fluids and experience of passing through the birth canal–"

"The baby needs to be able to breathe!"

"Her blood pressure is rising," said the heavyset ginger-haired nurse who'd joined them. "Rising, Healer Clearwater."

"Severus!" Narcissa, clearly panicked, grasped the sleeve of his frock coat. "I made a mistake. I don't want to wait to be married. I don't want to wait until I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful now," he interjected, smoothing back the damp, loose hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. Her face was red and splotchy, her breathing was uneven, her belly was swollen and huge and exposed with purple veins intersecting across it and stretch marks along her hips, and her bright blue eyes were fearfully wide, brimming with tears she fought to keep from falling, but still, he found her beautiful.

"Marry me now. Marry me, please, Severus. If I die–"

"You won't die!"

"If I die, I want our baby to know we loved each other enough to be married!"

"You won't die," he repeated insistently, but he kissed her temple and promised he'd find someone to marry them.

Out in the hall, he sent a Patronus to Minerva, begging her to come, asking her to bring Flitwick. Flitwick was the only wizard he knew personally with the power to perform the antiquated marriage bonding ceremony. He quickly explained the situation to an anxious Draco, told him to inform him immediately upon their arrival, and hurried back in to be by her side.

Though it was a school day, Minerva understood the urgency in Severus' message even without full details, and pulled Flitwick out of a lesson with seventh years. He subsequently dismissed the class, fortunately his last of the day, and they Flooed from the Headmistress's office to St. Mungo's, leaving a thoroughly confused Katie Bell-Thomas (the first staff member they came across in the hall) in charge of the school.

"No one but the father can be in here!" shouted the Healer when Severus led Flitwick to Narcissa's bedside.

"Please," she pleaded, looking not at the Healer but at Midwife Sarkisian. "Please, please let us do this."

"The health of the mother is as important as that of the baby," said the midwife sternly to the Healer. "Perhaps this is what she needs to bring down her blood pressure."

"Rubbish!" Healer Clearwater exclaimed, but he continued his work bent between her legs, wand in one hand, magical forceps in the other, attempting to feel for the baby's cord to unwrap it from his or her tiny neck. Severus moved over a chair for Flitwick to stand on, putting him between Narcissa on the bed and Severus by the window.

"Please, Professor." She grabbed Flitwick's small hand. "I need to be married before this baby is born, in case... in case..."

"Let us get on with it, then," said Flitwick, understanding. He joined her left hand with Severus' left. Traditionally this was done with right hands, but hers was being used for diagnostic monitoring by the midwife, thus they had to make due. Flitwick quickly recited the basic vows and first incantation, before asking Severus and Narcissa a series of questions, to which they answered yes, promising to love and care for one another, to remain faithful, to respect and honor each other, and to never willfully cause each other pain, to be honest and true, to listen and to be patient, and to dedicate their future selves to each other.

Then came the part during which couples typically recited their own personal vows, each making three promises to the other, promises that could be anything. Severus, as the groom, went first.

"I promise to tell you you're beautiful, even when you feel at your worst."

She giggled at this, but then a contraction came. Flitwick felt her hand squeeze Severus' between both of his own, but the former potions master did not react to what surely must have been painful.

"I promise to comfort you when you cry."

"Like now?" she asked, tears streaming freely down her ruddy cheeks.

"And I promise to put you above all others, including the dog, always."

"Fuck, I love you," she said. Flitwick held back a surprised chuckle, not having ever heard such language from his always dignified former pupil before.

"Severus, I promise to kiss all of your scars and remind you of your bravery at least once per week."

"Only once?" he asked teasingly.

She smiled through the pain, trying to ignore whatever that Healer was now doing between her legs, which hurt worse than the fire against her forearm when she used to burn herself.

"I promise not to get jealous when I see you speaking with other women."

"Don't promise that!" he said. "I like it when you're jealous."

"Then I promise I'll viciously murder any woman who tries to steal you from me."

"That's not quite the spirit of the vows that the ceremony usually–" Flitwick began, but whatever the Healer was doing made her scream out with excruciating pain, and the tiny Charms professor decided not to comment after all.

"And I promise to love you with my whole heart."

Fillius Flitwick murmured the appropriate final incantation and, much like the way an Unbreakable Vow would, three lines shot out from his wand, wrapping themselves around the hands of the couple, but unlike with the Unbreakable Vow, these included one red, to symbolize her, one blue, to symbolize him, and a purple, to symbolize the two of them melding together as one.

"This is the part when the wizard kisses his bride," said Flitwick. He hopped off the chair. Severus pushed it aside with his thigh and leaned over his new bride.

"I love you," he whispered, just before his lips descended upon hers. When they parted, he added, "You are not dying. Not today."

"Is this over?" snapped Healer Clearwater, glaring at Flitwick, who nodded first at him, then at Severus before hurrying into the hall to update Minerva and Draco. Severus stroked Narcissa's hair and opened his mouth to tell her he thought she was already looking better when her eyes rolled back and her body began to seize.

"Bloody... no!" said the Healer. "Snape, out! Nurse, fetch Healer Smyth. We'll cut the baby out. We need to do it now."

Midwife Sarkisian ushered a slack-jawed, terrified Severus toward the door. Upon reaching it, he broke free from his shock and tried to fight her, demanding he be permitted to remain with his wife.

"You'll only be in her way!" the midwife forced him into the hall. "Before I go back in there, I have to know – if it comes down to one or the other, which should we save?"

"What?" Severus couldn't process the question, let alone answer it.

"Which should we save? Your wife or your baby?"

"My wife," he said without question, though it occurred to him later this was likely not the answer Narcissa would have wanted him to give. It also occurred to him this was the first time he had referred to her by that title. "If it can only be one, save my wife."

The midwife nodded and disappeared back into the room. Moments later the nurse came hurrying down the hall, leading a female Healer Severus recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt's younger sister. Healer Smyth, he presumed. Without acknowledging Severus, Draco, or the two Hogwarts professors, they hurried into the hospital room, letting the door latch behind them.

"She could die," said Severus quietly. He slumped to the floor, his back against the wall, and buried his face in his hands. Draco turned away, not wanting anyone to see that his eyes were brimming with tears. Flitwick patted his arm sympathetically. Though it was no easy task for Minerva, she settled on the floor beside her friend, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"She is strong, Severus. She'll survive."

"What of the baby?" When he turned to Minerva, she saw a desperate, haunted expression across his face she'd only seen once before – when they'd battled at Hogwarts, or, more accurately, when she'd shot spell after spell at him only for him to deflect until he'd flown from the window. She knew now that he hadn't wanted to attack her then but couldn't give up his position, couldn't reveal his true loyalties. Now, his eyes were filled with fear.

"You made the right choice."

"She may not think so," he whispered. "She may not be able to go on if... if she loses... she's already lost... she may not be strong enough for..." He couldn't finish a single sentence, not one of them, for to put into words his greatest fear would make it seem real, a real possibility. She'd lost a baby before, and her sister, and her son, and now, after she'd come so far, to lose another... especially like this...

"They won't let her die," insisted Minerva with more confidence than she felt. "They won't let her die and they won't let the baby die."

"She can't die," he whispered. "If she dies..."

"I'll be an orphan," said Draco, staring down at them. His voice was wooden, his face ashen. "If she dies, I'll be an orphan."

They eventually moved from the hall to the waiting room at staff's request. Hermione joined them after work, expecting to find Draco had become a big brother, and instead learning they hadn't had an update in nearly two hours. Flitwick had returned to Hogwarts to help Bell-Thomas, who absolutely loathed being in charge of anything beyond her flying class, but Minerva remained. Hermione sat beside Draco, holding his hand and drinking cold, weak tea. Severus leaned forward with his head in his hands as Minerva gently rubbed his back between his shoulder blades. Though he would usually pull away from such a comforting touch, he found he couldn't bring himself to. He needed her, as another man – one who'd had a better childhood – might have needed his mother in a time like this.

When a figure entered the room the heads of all four snapped up, but it was not a midwife or Healer standing there, it was Andromeda.

"I've got Harry to watch Teddy. Then I demanded an update. She's unconscious. She's been having seizures and she's bleeding. But they got the baby out. The baby's expected to live. Someone will be in to speak with you shortly."

"What is it?" asked Severus, his voice possessing a strangled quality he'd never heard coming from himself before. "The baby, what is it?"

"It's what she wanted," said Andromeda, settling in the vacant chair beside him. "It's a girl."

Another hour passed before Midwife Sarkisian entered the waiting room, holding a small bundle, swaddled in white cotton and resting in a pale yellow blanket.

"Have you named her?" she whispered as she placed the bundle – the baby girl – into Severus' arms.

"No," answered Severus, staring down into the peacefully sleeping face of his daughter for the first time. "Her mother will do that."

"She's clean and has been fed. She's healthy, despite the cord. We do not think there was any permanent damage. Regarding your wife, we'll update you as soon as we can." The midwife patted Severus' shoulder then nodded at Draco and Andromeda before vacating.

"Is she supposed to be this size?" Severus asked Minerva. She appeared impossibly tiny; he could hold her head in one hand with room to spare. Her body was about as long as a potion textbook – perhaps her legs went a bit longer, but she was all scrunched up – and her hands... he freed one from the blanket and rested his pinkie finger against one of her tiny fists; her little fingers closed instinctively around it. Her fingernails were glossy specs. Her nose... she clearly did not inherit his nose. Hers was tiny and button-like and perfect. Her eyes were closed and the hair on her head was fine and silky.

"She's lovely," breathed Minerva, gently squeezing her teensy foot through the blankets.

"Hullo there, little sister," said Draco, kneeling beside Severus' chair to get a closer look at her. Hermione stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, and cooed over the precious little thing. Perhaps she _would_ want a baby, someday. It suddenly seemed hard to imagine never having one, seeing how cute and tiny and sweet...

At nightfall, Severus tried to send everyone away but they refused to go, even Minerva. The baby had been changed and fed again by the midwife with a bottle, but Severus insisted he wanted to do it himself the next time. It was late – how late, he wasn't sure – when the midwife returned. He took the bottle from her and held it the way she showed him. Minerva smiled as any proud grandmother might, patted his knee, and told him she was proud of him.

If he were not such an accomplished Occlumens, capable of emptying his mind and controlling his emotions, this would have been the moment that made him break down and cry.

Hours later, Minerva was dozing in the chair, head tipped back, snoring. Andromeda had gone off in search of coffee and to send another message to Harry, to update him. Draco and Hermione had transfigured their chairs into a bench, on which he was curled up on his side, his head in her lap. They were both sound asleep. She talked in her sleep, quiet mumbles about potions and textbooks. No surprise. Draco lightly snores.

Severus cradled the newborn as he'd done for most of the last several hours, though the midwife had taken her from him to be changed and checked out again. She brought in a small oval bassinet and suggested he set the baby down to sleep – "If you hold her too much, you'll spoil her, and she'll never want to sleep away from your arms!" she warned – but he had no interest in letting her go unless it was absolutely necessary.

When a shadowy figure entered the dark room, Severus assumed it was Andromeda.

"You found coffee?" he asked.

"No," whispered the midwife. "Your wife is awake."

Severus' head snapped up. "May I see her?"

"You may. I could take the baby and–"

"No," he said in a definite tone. "She'll want to see the baby."

Midwife Sarkisian did not argue. She led him down the corridor in the opposite direction from whence they'd come, to the room where they'd moved Narcissa. They entered quietly.

"Severus?" she called, her voice shaky and weak. It had been over seventeen hours since they'd come to the hospital, and twenty-three since her contractions began.

"Narcissa!" He sat beside her on the bed, much to the dismay of Healer Clearwater, who was still bustling about, using his wand to check her vital signs.

"Our baby," she whispered, stroking the newborn's soft head even though she was barely able to lift her arm. "Oh, Severus, love, she's beautiful."

"Like her mother," he said. He kissed her forehead. She looked even more worse for wear than she had the time he'd found her face-down on the floor in her bedroom with a bloody, broken nose and her hair filthy and tangled, worse than she'd looked before the seizures started, but she remained beautiful to him. She had already been told she was not to hold or nurse the newborn yet, but she continued to stroke her wispy hair as she and Severus spoke.

"They tell me I nearly died."

"They told me the same. I was worried about you."

"I was convulsing, drifting in and out of consciousness, and then, everything was still. I was in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, but it looked different. Everything was painted white. The walls, the floor, even the light given off by the chandelier was white. And I called for Draco, but he didn't come, so I called for you, and then for Butters, and finally for Duchess, but nobody came, not at first. I sat in the rocker, the one in the baby's room, the one that's been in my family for generations, and I waited. I waited for someone to find me in the drawing room, and then there he was."

"He?"

"Lucius."

"You saw Lucius in the all white drawing room of Malfoy Manor?" This gave Severus an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd dreamt about an all white room once too, but it was his childhood bedroom, and it was his mother who came to him. It was while he lay on the floor of the Shrieking Shack after looking into Potter's eyes and depositing his memories, when he thought he was dying, before Lucius returned to save him. His mother had hugged him and said she loved him, but then told him he didn't belong there, that he would have to return.

"Return to what?" he'd asked.

"Happiness," she'd said.

"How can I return to it?" he'd asked. "I've never known happiness."

She'd kissed his forehead. "You will," she'd said. And then her face faded, to be replaced by the hazy visage of his friend, who was leaning over him, slapping his cheek, swearing he'd not let him die. That was the last thing Severus remembered before waking up in St. Mungo's weeks later.

"What did Lucius say in this... this dream state?" he asked delicately.

"He told me he was sorry, he never meant to hurt me, and he told me he wasn't angry or hurt, that he understood. He told me saving you was one of the most decent things he ever did, and the first good deed he'd done in a long time. And then he told me he loved me and he told me I'd love her. I asked, 'Her? Who?" but he faded away and I woke up to discover I'd already given birth to a girl. I don't even remember it."

"I've fed her twice now. Next time, it's your turn."

"I intended to breastfeed her but they won't even allow me to sit up all the way."

Eventually both Narcissa and Severus fell asleep side by side in the hospital bed. The night nurse removed the still-unnamed newborn from her father's arms and placed her in the bassinet. The next morning, "family only" were to be permitted into the room.

"These are all members of your family?" asked the morning nurse, glancing around at Severus, Draco, Hermione, Andromeda, and Minerva.

"Yes," insisted Narcissa. "They are all family. But you're not, which means you're breaking your own rules by being in here."

The nurse rolled her eyes and tutted before bustling out to check on other patients.

"I don't reckon she likes you much," said Andromeda. "Can't understand why, since you're so naturally charming."

"Sod off," said Narcissa. "Don't you have a crossword puzzle you should be neglecting your work for?"

Andromeda laughed. "See what I mean?"

"Be nice," said Severus, glinting eyes entirely focused on his wife. "I don't want the baby's first words to be snarky on account of the two of you."

"If she's snarky, it'll be because she's yours," said Narcissa as she brushed the back of his hand with the knuckle of her forefinger. "You're the one who's snarky. I'm naturally charming. My own sister said so, and she'd typically too horrible to hand out compliments."

"I hope she looks like you, for her sake, but has my wit, because yours is sorely lacking in cleverness," said Severus, smirking.

"I hope she looks like me, for her sake, and has your penchant for sarcasm so you can see what it's like to live with someone so very sardonic and dry."

"I hope she looks like you, for her sake, and has your–"

"While the two of you are clearly preoccupied with this revolting form of flirtation, mind if I hold my sister?" Draco interrupted. He did not wait for permission before taking the baby from her bassinet. "Don't worry, little one. You're stuck with them, but you've also got me. Your parents aren't perfect but your older brother is."

"He's not exactly humble, is he?" Severus asked Narcissa.

"It's not his fault," she said, smiling. "The poor dear. He takes after his father."

 **17 December, 2000**

By the time Narcissa and the baby were released from St. Mungo's, the home next door to Andromeda was ready for them. Severus and the house-elves had already moved their belongings into it and unpacked. He'd taken from Spinner's End only his books, his favorite oak desk, a freestanding wardrobe full of nearly identical frock coats and black trousers, his card collection, one framed photograph of himself as a toddler in his mother's arms, and his potions-related materials, plus, of course, Duchess' toys, dishes, and biscuits. Everything else was given away or trashed before the house sold. From Malfoy Manor, they brought all of Narcissa's clothing, shoes, jewelry, and toiletries, several photo albums, the rocker, the crib, a few Black family heirlooms, her vanity, one full set of dishes, and Butters with her meager belongings. Anything else they needed – furniture, bedding, baby clothes, food items – they purchased new.

This meant Draco and Hermione, despite being unwed, were free to move into the Master Bedroom, upon redecoration, as was customary.

Once Narcissa and the baby had been home a week, Severus felt comfortable enough to return to work part-time, having let Hermione run the place in his absence (he did not quite feel Neville was up to the task). By the time the baby was three months old, though, they'd fallen into a happy routine.

Butters was beyond thrilled to have a baby to care for and Duchess seemed excited about the new addition too, sleeping on the floor under her bassinet rather than at the foot of Severus and Narcissa's bed. Teddy enjoyed peering over her in his grandmother's arms, saying "Wotcher, baby!" and getting a kick out of being the "big kid" all of a sudden.

Minerva stopped by at once per week, insisting she was just making sure Severus was alright after his scare and that Narcissa did not need assistance, but both suspected her true motive was the newborn cuddling time she'd get while exhausted Narcissa napped or showered.

"I couldn't have children," she told them once while sniffing the top of the baby girl's head. "So I've loved my Gryffindor cubs like my own, but there's nothing quite like them when they're this wee size, is there?" She sniffed her again.

"Are you trying to inhale our baby?" asked Severus.

"No offense, Professor," said Hermione, settling beside the Headmistress on the couch and reaching for her. "But you've been monopolizing the little bug all afternoon. I haven't seen her in days!"

But the baby began to fuss then, thus Narcissa took her. It was time for a feeding – and also time for Minerva to return to Hogwarts and Hermione to leave with Draco for dinner at Stargazer with Harry, Ginny, Luna, and Neville, to celebrate Luna's birthday.

That night, as Narcissa sat up in bed nursing the newborn with Duchess curled up by her knees, Severus read aloud from Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump.

When the story concluded, Narcissa unlatched the newborn, who was sound asleep, and passed her to Severus to kiss goodnight before placing her in the bassinet.

"She's perfect," he said, rolling onto his side and putting his arms around his wife. He kissed her shoulder; she kissed his palm. "And you named her well."

"Aquila, Latin for Eagle, the thunderbolt carrier for Zues, a constellation visible in September. It's pretty, isn't it?"

"Yes," agreed Snape. "But I'm particularly partial to her second name."

Narcissa closed her eyes and snuggled against him as he Noxed the light with a wave of his hand. "Hope," she said. "Something we were both sorely lacking two years ago, wouldn't you agree?"

"Hope," he repeated. "Aquila Hope Snape, daughter of Severus Tobias Snape and Narcissa Druella Snape, sister of Draco Abraxas Malfoy and Duchess Biscuit Snape."

"Oh, the dog has a middle name now?"

"Seems fair. Everyone else does."

Narcissa chuckled, rolled onto her back, pulled him over her, and guided him down into a kiss, the same way she had over eighteen months before. That was the morning after she discovered Draco had been arrested, when she asked Severus to spend the night in her bed and they'd awoken in the morning desperately wanting each other, but unable to be together.

"What are we?" She whispered the same words now she'd asked him then. That morning, he'd answered, "Friends," but both knew, wrong as it seemed, they desired more. Just as she had then, she brought his hand up and kissed the pads of each finger in turn, an innocent display of affection that drove him wild.

"Mmm," he murmured. "Narcissa."

"Severus?" She brushed her fingers through his hair, letting her long nails scritch pleasingly at the back of his neck. "What are we?"

"We're married," he answered tonight, three months after the birth of their daughter. "I am your husband and you are my wife. We're parents. We're lovers. We love each other." (He was glad that neither of his apprentices were Legilimens, as this was a scene he would replay in his own mind frequently at work, while waiting for potions to bubble or boil, and he would hate for them to think he was some sort of silly romantic, as Dumbledore and Minerva pegged him.)

"Yes," Narcissa agreed before placing another kiss on his inner wrist. "We are spouses and lovers and parents, _and_ we're friends. You're the best friend I've ever had, Severus."

Lily's face flashed info his mind, first at age nine, the day they met, and then again at Hogwarts, after he called her a Mudblood, when she joined in with James Potter in humiliating him, an uncharacteristic moment of cruelty. Then he envisioned Narcissa on Halloween, not flinching or pulling away when he drunkenly threatened to hit her, holding him as he sobbed for another woman, insisting upon caring for him even when he couldn't be bothered to care about himself. She had stayed. Even in his worst moment, his weakest, she'd stayed.

"You're the best friend I've ever had, too," he said before kissing her again. Unable to help himself, he added in a whisper, "You... and Duchess."

She laughed and swatted at his upper arm, but accepted his kiss as he positioned himself over her. Duchess, hearing her name, tried to crawl up between them, but Severus banished her to the floor where he knew she would sit patiently, unmoving, until she had permission to return.

"Will I hurt you?" he asked quietly as Narcissa parted her legs, letting him press his pelvis to hers.

"It's been long enough," she answered, wanting him as badly as he did her, feeling a flutter in her chest and a familiar tug in her lower abdomen as the evidence of his erection made itself known, pressing against her mons. "But you'll be gentle?"

After Draco, she and Lucius had barely managed to wait the lesser of the recommended four-to-six weeks before falling into bed and ravaging each other, him holding firmly to her hips while she bucked and bounced on top of him, leaving her sore but satisfied the next day. However, considering how difficult this birth had been, the way it felt to have been cut opened and magically sewn up, and the fact she was now more than two decades older than she'd been then, she was far more cautious this time around. And Severus was less persistent than Lucius, more willing to wait, more concerned for her health over his pleasure.

"I'll be gentle," he promised. And he was. He undressed her gently and kissed her gently, and massaged her outer thighs gently, and gently ran his fingertips from her neck, over her swollen breasts, to the curve of her hips, and then he rubbed against her clit gently and entered her gently and rode her gently, until she cried out.

"Harder, Severus, I've changed my mind. Please... please... harder..."

He obliged but refused to get rough, opting instead to touch and kiss and caress her as they made love, until she hit her peak and descended into utter bliss, prompting him to lose control, jerking and groaning until he came inside her, after which he immediately summoned over a vial of contraceptive potion. She downed it quickly, 'just in case' breastfeeding was not enough to prevent another pregnancy. After nearly losing both her life and her daughter, she was certain she wanted no more children, and he was entirely supportive of this.

"I love you, Narcissa," he murmured, nuzzling against her neck, their bodies still naked but warm under the blankets.

"Well, I would hope so," she said teasingly, wrapping him in a hug. "As my husband, loving me is part of your job. You took a vow, remember?"

"As did you... and yet it's been at least two weeks since you last kissed all of my scars and reminded me of my bravery."

She pressed her lips to the raised marking on his neck, murmuring against his marred skin, "Never forget how brave you are. And also never forget that you promised to tell me I'm beautiful even when I'm not."

"I would never have to lie to you about being beautiful because you are. I promised to tell you you're beautiful when you _feel_ at your worst. But since you brought it up – you're beautiful, Narcissa."

"I know." She wrapped her arm around his waist and rested her head on his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat, the way their baby daughter listened to hers as she dozed off after feeding. "I'm much better looking than that old crone Dilys Derwent."

He smirked, glancing at the small bookcase in their bedroom, where her photo albums, several picture books, and his collection of Chocolate Frog Cards were safely stored. He had one hand on her arse and the other resting over her hand on his chest.

"I love you, Narcissa. I love you and I love our daughter and I love our dog and I even love that pompous do-gooder son of yours."

Duchess took the word "dog" to mean she could jump back up on the bed. She squeezed herself between them, expecting pets. This time, both husband and wife obliged, scratching her behind the ears.

"Two years ago this week, on the twenty-first of December, I was suicidal and hopeless, broken and lost, and you took me into the drawing room and told me – do you remember?"

"I told you Draco had requested I speak with you, that I help you through your grief, because he knew not what to do and he was terrified of losing you. Of being orphaned."

"You reminded me of our Unbreakable Vow."

"I reminded you that you would have done absolutely anything to keep your son alive then asked why you were unwilling to take even the most basic steps to keep yourself alive – if not for you, than for your son."

"You told me I still a future ahead of me, one that would be filled with both hard times and happy ones, and that I needed to pick myself up and go on despite the pain."

"Was I correct?"

"You know you were, but I wasn't ready to hear it at the time. You told me you knew how it was to grieve, as you'd spent nearly eighteen years grieving... _her_."

"Wasted. I told you I'd _wasted_ eighteen years. I didn't want to see you do the same. Not when you had more to live for than I ever did."

"You said Lucius would be furious with me if I let myself die for losing him. You said he'd hate what I was doing to..." She let the sentence hang but they both knew she was picturing her heavily scarred arm as it had been then, covered in raised welts and swollen blisters.

"I owed him my life. I was not going to repay him a life's-debt by letting you slip farther into darkness, to continue hurting yourself. I owed you both better."

"I owe you _my_ life, Severus. I couldn't imagine going on without him. Every day, I wanted to die. And I had myself nearly convinced Draco would be better off without me, that by living as I was I could only hurt him, and since I did not believe anything would ever get better, I quite seriously considered suicide. I am ashamed of that now."

"Do not be. As I told you then, I battled my own demons after she died, and one was the daily battle over whether to end my own life, but ultimately Dumbledore convinced me I owed it to her memory to commit myself to keeping her son alive. When Draco asked me to help you through your grief it was because he wrongfully assumed I'd managed through my own, but I hadn't, not yet, not fully. All I'd ever hung onto after her death was hope, the hope that by doing as Dumbledore said I could at least partly atone for my sins, and though it was not an altogether pleasant life I led, that hope kept me going. During the second war, I hoped for a world without the threat of the Dark Lord. I hoped to help bring that world into existence. Hope was everything. Which is why I tried to instill it in you."

"And now we have hope." She glanced over at the baby asleep in her bassinet within reach of the bed.

"Hope," he agreed. "Our daughter, your son, my business, your sister, our friends, each other, and the dog."

Duchess lifted her head, let her tongue hang out in a sort-of canine grin, and began wagging her tail.

She had hope, too.

She was hoping for biscuits.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I know this was a dramatic chapter with a somewhat schmaltzy ending – please forgive me! I got emotional. Lol :D I also know this kind of feels like an ending and that's because it almost is... only two chapters left! But the last one is really more like an epilogue. Only a few loose ends to tie up next chapter, then we skip a few years into the future to see how everything's turned out for the four of them.

About the birth - I think of the wizarding world as advanced in some ways and antiquated in others. Nowadays in a Muggle hospital I don't think anyone would ask the father whom they should focus on saving, but when my Nan had my aunt Agnes many years ago that was the question the doctor asked her husband. He then told him, "We think the baby's dead; we'll just work to save your wife." Turns Out he baby was not dead, but they broke both of her legs yanking her out! So I used that it of true life backstory here as inspiration.

Thanks for reading!

 **-AL**


	33. Love

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:**

 **LOVE**

 **25 December 2000**

Christmas was lovely. Hermione's mother and the twins were already at Malfoy Manor, having moved in just five days earlier, and in the afternoon they were joined by Narcissa and Severus with baby Aquilla and Andromeda and Barnaby with toddlers Teddy and Grayson.

The four little ones ran around wreaking havoc in the well-decorated drawing room, playing with their presents and giggling madly, leaving trails of biscuit crumbs in their wake. Grayson, at three, was the oldest and biggest, with Teddy and Orlando not far behind. Ophelia, on the other hand, remained teeny, still fitting comfortably into clothes meant for 18 month olds despite being over two-and-a-half. She was growing steadier on her feet every day, though, and only fell a couple of times when chasing the boys. (Clumsy Teddy toddled over just as frequently but got back up faster.) There was garland hanging, mistletoe in the doorways, and a massive tree with small white candles on the branches to create a festive look.

The adults sat in a semi-circle, watching the children and chatting. They did their best to keep Jean Granger included by not focusing too much on the latest news in the wizarding world, but she surprised them by revealing she'd been reading the Daily Prophet all week in order to better connect with both of her magical daughters. But it wasn't long before both Draco and Hermione were bored by the conversation of their elders and ended up entertaining the little ones with a friendly duel instead.

"My-nee!" cried Ophelia, cheering and clapping when her big sister hit Draco with a Jelly Legs Jinx. He wasn't quick enough to deflect it but despite his involuntary wriggling he shot back a Bat Bogey Hex, which she avoided thanks to a simply Protego. He immediately fired again, this time sending her flying in the air, landing on her bum. She scrambled to her feet, wand at the ready, as the boys cheered for their new favorite wizard.

"Get her, Dayco!" shouted Teddy, punching the air as if thrusting forward a wand. His hair turned white-blond with the excitement, momentarily distracting Orlando, who'd never seen such a thing. Draco managed to cancel the Jelly Legs and duck Hermione's Stupify while sending back a nonverbal stream of colored light that exploded in front of his opponent, making a rainbow and rendering her temporarily unable to see thanks to the bright flash.

"Ouch! Playing dirty, Malfoy?" she asked, squeezing her eyelids shut tightly as she blindly sent a Petrificus Totalus in his direction, which missed, hitting the fireplace.

"Bested, Granger?" Draco smirked, leaning too-casually against the wall. He nodded at the boys, his personal cheering section. "That's how it's done, lads."

But his triumph was short-lived. She recovered faster than he'd expected and hit him with three things in such quick succession the third was headed his way before he registered the first: Anteoculatia (which made him grow antlers), Avis (sending small birds to attack his head), and Colloshoo, which stuck the soles of his shoes to the floor, making it impossible for him to escape the twittering, pecking birds, some of whom landed on the antlers.

"Call them off!" he begged. "Please, Hermione! Their beaks are sharp!"

"I thought you'd bested me, Malfoy?" Now she was the one regarding him with a smirk, her arms folded in front of her. Ophelia laughed delightedly and Narcissa, though she was trying to remain neutral, couldn't help doing the same. Her sweet son reminded her of both her late husband and her sister in his arrogance and she didn't mind seeing him taken down a peg.

"That's my hex," said Severus proudly, gesturing toward the duo. "The shoe sticking one. Came up with it myself."

"You've invented your own spells?" asked Jean Granger. "Is that a normal thing wizards and witches do?"

"No," said Severus. "I was immensely talented from a young age and created more before age twenty than most do in their entire lives."

"Wow," breathed Jean, looking impressed. "You must be very proud."

"Don't inflate his ego any further," said Narcissa. "Spell creation isn't all that difficult."

"Oh?" He cocked one eyebrow, looking over his wife with a vague expression of bemusement. "And how many have _you_ invented?"

"Hundreds," she answered. "But you wouldn't know it because I am not a braggart."

Andromeda, who had baby Aquilla in her arms, snickered at this.

"Yes, Cissy, you're the humblest person in our family, right after Bella, Sirius, and Grandmother Black."

This was the first time Narcissa had heard Andromeda joke in a friendly way about their exceedingly arrogant elder sister since their reconnection and it both made her smile and tugged at her heartstrings. Could Andromeda ever forgive Bella for murdering Nymphadora during that Final Battle? Glancing first down at her baby in her sister's arms then at huffing, pleading Draco still being bombarded by birds, she concluded no. There was no way to forgive someone for murdering your child. Not ever.

Hermione, claiming victory, called off the birds and unstuck Draco's shoes, but only after hitting him one last time, with a tickling hex which she refused to cancel until he officially conceded defeat, much to the disappointment of the three little boys. Once he caught his breath, he made it up to them by kicking off a game of Quidditch right there in the drawing room. He'd given them each a toy broom for Christmas, capable of fling up to three feet off the floor, which was an ideal toy because even seemingly non-magic Orlando could work it. As he tried to teach them the rules, Hermione Transfigured the floor beneath them from hard wood to soft pillows, then scooped up her sister – not yet physically able enough to fly – and joined the adults.

"You're talented with a wand, Hermione," said Severus appraisingly as she settled beside her mother. He hadn't actually seen her duel before; he'd been dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack before she jumped into the Final Battle, and he hadn't been present at the Ministry when the students broke in to 'save' Black. He knew, of course, that she achieved high marks across the board on her O.W.L.s, but he was nonetheless impressed to have seen her in action. "Perhaps you're wasting your abilities in my apothecary. Wouldn't a Ministry position better suit you?"

"I can't tell whether you're complimenting me or firing me, sir."

"Neither," he said. "Though more the former than the latter."

"I enjoy brewing and I like explaining potions to patrons, too. You're a sufficient teacher when you're not at the front of a classroom and I'm happy to stay so long as you're happy to have me."

"I am," he said, genuinely satisfied with the girl's work (and choosing to ignore that quip about the classroom). The baby began to fuss then and he reached for her, holding her body against his chest, her tiny face by his neck. Narcissa smiled. She loved how tender and careful he was with their baby, how doting and soft. So unlike the young man he'd been through both wars and the time between. When Draco was small, Severus used to pat his head, hand him candy, and tell him to mind his parents – that was as close to affectionate as he could manage. He was still not an outwardly affectionate person – he rarely attempted to hold Narcissa's hand in public and would not kiss her if there were any possibility a Prophet reporter might be lurking – but he also never shied away from referring to her as "My wife," even when just sitting at home with Minerva or Andromeda visiting and he turned out to be a natural when it came to changing nappies.

Narcissa watched him gently rub the baby's back, soothing her as the conversation continued. She only half-listened, lost in thought, as her mind drifted from Christmas back to Halloween.

Last year, he'd gotten drunk, become belligerent, warned he might hit her, and then sobbed in her arms over Lily Evans Potter. He'd assured her then that he was not a good man, that he'd never been and could never be a good man, but she'd known better.

This Halloween, for the first time since 1982, he consumed not a drop of alcohol. He spent a quiet night with his daughter and wife and tried not to think about Lily.

Shortly before midnight, when they crawled into bed, Narcissa whispered, "You can talk about her, if you want to."

"She's gone."

"I know. But if you want to..."

"She was my first friend. Did you have friends growing up?"

"No." She unbuttoned the front of her nightgown and parted it so she could nurse six-week-old Aquilla before putting her down with the hope a full belly would help her sleep for a few hours. "My sisters were my only friends until Hogwarts. Then I spent time with the other girls in my dorm but we were never close. As an adult Zinnia was my closest friend, but she abruptly stopped speaking to me when Lucius was arrested for the Ministry debacle that killed my cousin. You?"

"I had only Lily as a child. At Hogwarts I became friendly with Evan Rosier–"

"He's my cousin."

"And Regulus..."

"Another cousin."

"And Avery and Mulciber, but none were like Lily. I couldn't be myself, not entirely, with them."

"As an adult, was Lucius your closest friend?"

"He was, yes. But he wasn't Lily."

"What was so special about her?" Narcissa tried to keep the jealousy from creeping into her voice. "Why did you love her so?"

He spent the next hour telling his wife about the girl he'd adored for so long, the woman who stopped being his friend only to become his obsession. Narcissa, though it was difficult, simply listened.

Less than six weeks later, on the eighth of December – the anniversary of her husband's execution – they had a similar bedtime conversation, during which Severus held the baby so Narcissa could take him through the early years of her marriage accompanied by a large photo album. He hadn't known them well then; he'd still been at Hogwarts when they wed. As she'd done for him, he simply listened.

"Are we broken people?" she asked him that night before turning in. "Are we damaged?"

"Yes," he answered as he placed the baby in her bassinet. He crawled back into bed and made himself comfortable behind Narcissa, spooning her, placing a delicate kiss on the back of her shoulder. "And no. Damaged in some ways, possibly permanently. But not broken."

The large group ate Christmas dinner together in the dining room. Draco had had the room entirely redone once his mother moved out, unable to handle being reminded of the Dark Lord, Charity Burbage, and his auntie Bellatrix every time he stepped foot in it. It no longer resembled its former self at all, to the relief of Severus, who'd been worried about having to eat at the long table again. He had occasional flashbacks that manifested as nightmares, and a great many of them took place at that old, long table with the Dark Lord at the head and Nagini by his feet.

After pudding the guests departed, Mrs. Granger took the twins up to bed, and Draco and Hermione retired to the newly redecorated Master Bedroom.

"You dueled well today," he said as he changed for bed. "I almost didn't have to let you win."

"Let me win?" She paused with her nightgown around her neck, her arms not through the sleeves, and he took the opportunity to enjoy the view of her naked body. "You think you let me win?"

"I did. You're welcome."

Hermione hurried into the rest of her nightgown. "I refuse to thank you because you didn't let me win."

"Ophelia's a sweet little thing." He pulled up his pajama pants and tried to look unassuming, genuine. "She looked like she needed a win."

"You snake. You really expect me to believe you _let_ _me win_ to make my sister feel good?"

"I could have finished you when you were blinded by the Prism Flash Jinx, which, I'll have you know, I developed myself. But your little bird spell was... cute."

"What?!" Cute was an insult too great for Hermione to bear. Angry pink spots dotted her cheeks, her hands clenched involuntarily, and she fought the urge to hex him there as he stood, even though he was currently wandless. "My spell was _what_?"

He shrugged too casually and crawled into bed. "I am nothing if not a gentleman, and a gentleman concedes to a lady, even in a duel. Otherwise, it's poor form. So... how about you reward me my good deed?" He wriggled his eyebrows and made an obscene gesture and she honestly couldn't decide whether to snigger or tell him off.

She settled for both.

Laughing scornfully, she said, "Draco Malfoy, if you think _for one moment_ you had me beat–"

"Let's not fight. You did exceptionally well for a Muggleborn Gryffindor _girl_ with no proper training and a–"

"Outside!" she interjected, tearing off her nightgown and reaching for the jeans and jumper she'd just set aside to throw down the laundry chute. "We shall settle this tonight. You think I can't duel? I dueled your aunt and lived to tell the tale!"

"You dueled her with the help of two other witches, a duel won not by any of you, but by your boyfriend's mummy..."

She could tell by the twinkle in his gray eyes that he was intentionally goading her and she was playing right into it, but she couldn't help herself.

"Get dressed, Malfoy. I intend to sweep the floor with you."

"Sweeping the floor?" He feigned confusion. "I don't understand. Isn't that something house-elves do? Are we holding a house-elf imitation competition? Just checking because I know I'm a better baker than you are, so–"

"Put on your trousers or play in your pajamas, I don't care. But if you're not outside in the next three minutes I'm going to sick Crookshanks on you!"

"Nice try. Crookshanks is my mate now; he'd never hurt me. But since you're so insistent..." He heaved an exaggerated sigh, peeling himself from the bed as if he needed to fight a sticking charm to do so. "I suppose I don't mind embarrassing you when your sister's not present."

"Outside."

Without waiting for him, she hurried downstairs to ready herself. Once they both were bundled up and squaring off in the snowy grass in front of Malfoy Manor, Draco grinned and Hermione glared. She really was easy to rile up. And she looked good while angry. He should do this more often.

"You are truly an arrogant prick," she said, raising her wand awaiting a "Go" from Skittles the house-elf, who was refereeing, much to the elf's delight.

"You mistake confidence for arrogance, Miss Granger."

"Enjoy that overconfidence-induced euphoria now, while it lasts, because you're going down, Malfoy."

"Don't be ridiculous." He waved his wand dismissively. "Only the loser is _going down_ , remember? That's the agreement."

"So you're saying no matter who wins, _you_ win?"

He smirked. She refused to return the smile, hoping his overconfidence would serve him as well in battle as it had for his aunt and her cousin – not that she planned to kill him. Defeat him? Of course. Emasculate him? Maybe a little. Wipe that smirk off his thin, pale face? Absolutely. But not kill him.

"We're ready, Skittle," he said, nodding at the elf as he got into dueling position to match her. The elf nodded.

"You may begin on three. One... two..."

Both cast their first curses before the elf got to three.

He sent a stinging hex straight away, not one to start soft, but she ducked it and cackled when her "Densaugeo" did to his teeth what he'd done to hers fourth year.

"Fuck!" cursed Draco, reaching for his mouth as his two front teeth extended to his chin.

"Aww," said Hermione. "You're even better looking as a beaver than you are as a ferret!"

"Tarantellegra!" he shouted, thrusting his wand forward.

"Protego! Impedimenta!"

"Bloody... hell... Her...mione!" His entire body slowed down, but with a simply Finite he was able to cancel her jinx. She took the time to wave her wand at a small snowbank, making the snow form itself into dozens of balls slightly smaller than bludgers. She picked one up, grinned, tossed it in the air, and caught it.

"You're done, Malfoy?"

"Not hardly, Granger!" He ducked her snowball and shot back with a leg locker curse. "Locomotor Mortis!"

She tried to avoid it but slipped in the icy snow, felt her legs snap together, and ended up on her back. She rolled to her side and shot two spells – one verbally, one non – that both landed as he stepped forward to make sure she was alright. Steelus made him start to sneeze while a twitchy ears hex brought his hands to his ears. She got her legs unstuck, reached for another snowball, and lobbed it his way while still on the ground. He was bent over, itching and sneezing, and it made contact with the top of his head, protected by his hat.

"Ow!" he yelped. "I sneezed too hard and bit my lip!" He covered his face as his shoulders shook. "These teeth are killing me!"

Though she knew she should finish him, she took pity instead and stopped the sneezing with a wave of her wand. Big mistake. He responded with a tickling hex, the one she'd ended him with earlier, and advanced on her while she laughed until tears were freezing against her cheeks.

"Stop! Stop! I helped you!"

"Showing mercy on your opponent? Are you a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff?"

"Faking tears?" She clutched her aching sides as she wriggled and giggled on the ground. "Clearly a Slytherin!"

He knelt down by her side, placed a hand on her lower abdomen, cancelled the tickling spell, and began tickling her in the Muggle way. When she was completely breathless he finally ceased, only for her to cup his cheek with her gloved hand, drawing him down to her for a kiss.

"I love you," she whispered. "Kiss me?"

"With pleasure."

When their lips were barely touching, she grabbed his shoulders, flipped him onto his back, and straddled him, keeping him pinned to the snowy ground.

"I'm flattered," he said. "But I'd rather you give me my victory jobby inside, where it's warm."

"Victory? I'm afraid you've got it all wrong." She held up one of her hands and his jaw dropped when he realized she was holding _his_ wand. She stood, still straddling him, and pointed his own wand down at his vulnerable body. "I've spent most of the last two years surrounded by you Slytherins and as the brightest witch of my age, I've picked up the art of manipulation. So for that, Malfoy, my sweet beaver-toothed ferret, I thank you."

"But you'll show mercy because it's Christmas?"

"Oh, darling Draco," she said in a placating tone, but with a hint of humor. "Dear, sweet Draco. I don't want you to be miserable. How could I? It's Christmas. I want you to be happy, because it's Christmas. I want you to be joyful. Cheerful, even. Cheerful, for Christmas."

He pulled a face. "You're going to hit me with a Cheering Charm?"

She smiled sweetly and nodded confirmation. "I'm going to hit you with a Cheering Charm."

He sighed, but asked hopefully, "Can we have sex once it wears off?"

Her smile grew to a grin as a naughty gleam sparkled in her eyes. He squirmed on the ground beneath her, awaiting the hysterical giggles he knew were imminent.

"Hermione? It _is_ Christmas. A time for giving."

"Tell me I won."

"You won."

"I know." She moved away as if she'd be letting him off the hook, but just as he was rising into a seated position, she turned back, got him with the Cheering Charm, and laughed wickedly as it took effect. "Happy Christmas, Draco!"

 **12 February, 2001**

Two days before Valentine's, Andromeda knocked on Narcissa's door, calling for her to hurry up and let her in.

"What's wrong?" asked Narcissa. "Tell me quietly. She's finally asleep."

"I fucked a man." Andromeda clutched her sister's forearms, staring at her with wild eyes.

"Given your panic, I'm assuming the man was not your Barnaby?"

"Of course it wasn't Barnaby! Have you any alcohol in this house? Even cooking sherry? I haven't had a drink in weeks, and–"

"Weeks?" Narcissa forgot to keep her own voice down. Andromeda shushed her. _"Weeks?"_ Narcissa repeated in a whisper. She led Andromeda into the kitchen for tea, which Butters was already preparing.

"We went to rehab over a year ago, Meda! You shouldn't have had a drink since before that!"

"I know. And for what it's worth, I did very well with my sobriety for a long time, but then I had a glass of wine back in August, for my birthday, and another in October, for Halloween, and I may have been a bit... a bit under the weather on New Year's Day, because we overindulged the night before, and..."

"Why?" Narcissa couldn't help feeling betrayed. They'd gone through the detoxification and treatment together, and though it wasn't easy, she hadn't consumed a single sip of anything stronger than butterbeer since that disaster in December 1999.

"Narcissa, please, can't we table my alcoholism until a later date? I'm telling you, I fucked a man, and I don't know how to feel about it."

"You should feel guilty." Narcissa thanked Butters for the tea and requested scones as well. "You should feel like a slag because you've been dating Barnaby for Merlin-only-remembers how long and now you've cheated on him, same as you did to Ted."

Andromeda seemed sufficiently chastened by this reminder, as she winced at the words. She tried not to think about how she'd cheated on Ted. Hell, she tried not to think about Ted. It was too painful. Almost as painful as thinking about her daughter, though that was harder to avoid, given Teddy's resemblance to her.

"How could you, Meda? You love Barnaby!"

"I know, but I couldn't help myself. I was at work and–"

"You had sex with another man while at work?!"

"Shut it! And save your judgment! It's not as if I was at my desk!" Andromeda let loose an exasperated sigh. "We slipped into a storeroom and–"

"YOU SHAGGED A MAN IN A STOREROOM AT ST. MUNGO'S?!"

"If I have to tell you to shut your mouth one more damn time, Cissy, I'll charm your lips together. Let me tell you what happened!"

Narcissa held up her hands in defeat. For several seconds the only sounds in the kitchen were those caused by Butters, bustling about preparing scones with jam and clotted cream. Finally Andromeda was ready to go on.

"I've been attracted to him for some time. He's an attractive man. No, he doesn't work there."

Being an even better Legilimens than her sisters, Andromeda was able to answer Narcissa's next question before it was asked.

"He's a powerful man, Cissy. A _very_ powerful man. We've been chatting recently, only when he comes in or when I see him out... It started the night of the banquet at Malfoy Manor, months ago. We had a long conversation over oysters and champagne – yes, I had one glass of champagne at the banquet – but nothing came of it then. Then this morning he came into St. Mungo's with one of his employees who'd been injured. During my break, I went upstairs to see how she was getting on and he was in the hall. We talked. I offered to take him to get coffee, and–"

"And you got lost along the way, ended up in a storeroom, and thought you couldn't get out unless you shagged him first?"

"He accidentally brushed against me, I accidentally brushed against him in a less accidental way, he accidentally brushed up against me again in an obviously deliberate way, and the next I knew, we were doing it against the wall in the storeroom. I wouldn't have, probably, but he's a _powerful_ man."

"You call him powerful one more time and I'm going to assume you either fucked the Minister for Magic or the Dark Lord reincarnated."

"Well..." Andromeda had the decency to look ashamed. "It wasn't the Dark Lord."

Narcissa jumped up from her chair, sending it clattering to the floor. "YOU HAD SEX WITH THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC IN A STOREROOM AT ST. MUNGO'S?!"

"Don't wake the damn baby!" snapped Andromeda, scoldingly slapping the top of Narcissa's hand, which was flat against the table. "And yes, I did. Does knowing who it was make what I did better or worse?"

Narcissa sank back into her chair, which had been righted by Butters.

"I honestly don't know, Meda. I don't know what to say."

"I'm seeing him again tomorrow. For dinner. Presumably more."

"You're not single."

"I know." Andromeda tipped back her head as if exasperated by this little dilemma. "What shall I do?"

"I have one idea, but it's bonkers, you might not like it."

"What's your bonkers idea?"

"What if you... _don't_ shag the Minister for Magic tomorrow?"

Andromeda's eyebrows knitted together. "I don't much like that idea."

"I didn't think you would." Narcissa sipped her tea.

Andromeda sighed, covering her face with her hands. In a muffled voice, she asked, "Am I a terrible person, Cissy?"

"Yes, you are." Narcissa set down her mug and rubbed her sister's arm sympathetically. "You're a mess."

"He was an Auror with Nymphadora. They were friends. She liked and respected him, looked up to him. I'm a slag."

"He's not married, is he?"

"No. Recently split from Hestia Jones, another Auror. But they weren't married. No children. He's younger than I am. Younger than you. Younger than Severus."

"Younger than Nymphadora?"

"No."

"Then his age hardly matters."

"He's forty. He and Severus went to Hogwarts together, same year, but his birthday is in July." (Severus had just turned forty-one in January.) "He was in Ravenclaw. He wants to date me. _Me_! He said so. He asked me to dinner. Why?"

"Maybe he's queer and doesn't want anyone to suspect, so he needs a witch on his arm at all times and he heard you're available."

"He's not... Jupiter's moons, Narcissa! Please _try_ to be helpful, you snarky sack of bubblegum. He's not bloody queer. He _likes_ me. He said he finds me 'interesting.'"

"He's right. What's more interesting than a witch who spends her lunch break shagging a wizard she hardly knows in a hospital storeroom? Good thing when I was admitted I only interrupted your crossword puzzle. It would have been far more awkward to interrupt–"

The front door opened then and Severus entered, Duchess at his heels.

"I had no less than two thousand requests for ridiculous love potions today in preparation for Valentine's Day and I refused to brew or sell a single one, not even low-dose Amortentia-infused chocolates. I expect this sort of rubbish from dunderhead Hogwarts students, but from grown adults who – oh, hello, Andromeda."

"Severus, would I be a bad person for dating Barnaby while sleeping with Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

Severus, to his credit, did not visually react to what must have been a shocking question. He simply stared at her for a long moment, blank-faced, before answering, "Yes. Yes, you would be a bad person. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Break it off with Barnaby!" said Narcissa.

"Seems like the smart thing," agreed Severus. "Especially if you do not love him."

"I _do_ love him," argued Andromeda. "But the Minister is a pow–"

"Stop calling him a powerful man!" interrupted Narcissa. "Severus, love, was your day terrible?"

"Not the worst I've had, but customers were obnoxious, Longbottom exploded a cauldron, Granger was having that... that _passageway_ daydream again... and Carrow is pregnant. She vomited on the floor during lunch, costing me my appetite. I need a mug of Earl Gray, a strong headache potion, and a mental escape."

"We're going out for dinner, remember?"

"I remember." He kissed Narcissa on the temple, took a scone, and headed upstairs to their small office/library, intending to look in on the baby before settling in with the latest book from the Madly Magical Mysteries series Minerva recommended.

When he heard the baby crying a couple of hours later, he went into the bedroom to change her nappy, then carried her downstairs to find Andromeda had gone and Narcissa was asleep on the couch.

He did not wake his wife until an hour before it was time to meet Draco and Hermione at Stargazer for an early Valentine's dinner. It was Narcissa's first 'big' night out since the birth of the baby and she wanted to look her best. She slipped into a new expensive and form-fitting dress, which hugged her breasts (quite a bit bigger than they'd been before baby, which she decided was a look she liked) and rounded nicely over her still slender hips. It was Mediterranean blue, Severus' favorite color, with shimmery white accents. She dressed five-month-old Aquilla in a dark pink pinafore over white tights with shiny black shoes and met Severus downstairs, as he was already ready to Apparate.

"Damn," he said, looking over his wife with a hungry expression that made her go pleasantly pink.

"I'm glad you like this dress, Potions Master," she said, twirling to allow him a glimpse of the low-cut, skin-exposing back. "It cost you a fortune."

"Such a waste to spend so much on something I'm just going to rip off you and leave on the floor later."

She smiled coyly and accepted his kiss on the cheek before handing him the baby. He was better at side-along apparition than she, so he'd travel with Aquilla and she'd do so on her own, both landing within the apparition point not far from the restaurant.

Draco and Hermione had arrived first. They were already seated at the table, but stood to greet their dining companions. Both shook hands with Severus, but Narcissa kissed them each on the cheek, and they tweaked the nose and tickled the tummy of the baby, who was placed into the high chair Severus transfigured from a regular chair.

"You look lovely," Narcissa said to Hermione, who wore a simple champagne colored dress with short beaded sleeves. Her hair was slicked back into two French braids, her makeup was simple, and Narcissa couldn't help thinking she looked perfect on the arm of her son. She hid a chuckle as she remembered thinking she would need to give the girl a makeover if she was ever to get serious about Draco. Though she liked how the young woman cleaned up, she no longer found her everyday casual wear offensive in its middle class Muggley simplicity.

They chatted pleasantly over appetizers, mostly about baby Aquilla Hope (who'd recently learned to roll from her back to her tummy), toddler Teddy (who had discovered he could change the size and shape of his nose and was now doing so on purpose), and the twins (Ophelia was finally starting to string words together; Orlando was still glued to the broom Draco gave him for Christmas).

During dinner, Severus informed them all that he'd decided to expand the apothecary, opening a smaller shop in Hogsmeade primarily for students and professors.

"I'll need someone to run it, of course," he said. He tilted his head toward Hermione. "If you're interested."

"Me?" Her eyebrows extended nearly into her hairline. "You want me to run an apothecary?"

"We'll hire a shop girl to work the register, organize the shelves, keep the books. You'll focus on brewing, explaining complicated potions to customers, and, when there's time, experimentation. Interested?"

"Yes! And flattered! Sir, I–"

"Excellent," he interrupted. "I anticipate opening by the first of September."

That night, while readying themselves for bed (after putting the baby down and engaging in incredible sex in the shower) Narcissa commended Severus for giving Hermione the position.

"I still don't understand why she _wants_ to work, but your offer clearly pleased her."

"Work can be immensely satisfying," he said. "Believe it or not."

"I do not." She crawled over him, her knees to either side of his hips, and kissed his chin. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down to lay flat on top of him, and squeezed her bum.

"She should marry my son. I could plan the wedding reception. Help her select a dress. Gift them a honeymoon."

Severus chuckled. "You just want to throw a party."

"It's true." She snuggled her face against his neck. "Let's hire a band."

"You're incorrigible. If you want a wedding reception that badly, we'll have a wedding reception."

"But they're not married. They're not even engaged."

"I meant for us."

She gasped and pushed her upper body off his so she could look down on him, her blue eyes wide with both surprise and excitement.

"But you hate things like that! You told me our hospital room wedding was perfect."

"If you want a wedding reception..." He cupped her face and kissed her lips. "We'll have a wedding reception."

"I love you, Severus. You're too good to me."

"I love you too, Narcissa. You're the one who's too good for me."

"Let's do it soon, while my breasts are still huge. I could wear something with a plunging neckline. Andromeda will die from jealousy. Her chest is smaller than the Dark Lord's nose. And she has no arse. Now that Bella is dead, I'm the best looking Black sister."

Severus smirked. "I hope this isn't the speech you intend to give when you ask her to be your Matron of Honor."

"I cannot believe she cheated on Barnaby." Narcissa was suddenly serious. She relaxed back onto her husband's body, ever-comforted by the sound of his heartbeat and the feel of his breathing. "How could she do that to someone she loves?"

"Love is complicated," said Severus, holding her close.

" _Life_ is complicated. But no matter how complicated it is, I promise I would never do that to you, love."

"Nor would I to you," he assured her, absolutely meaning it, unable to fathom how anyone could hurt someone they love in that way despite the excuses he'd made for Lucius in the past. He added insistently, "Not ever."

Meanwhile, back in the Master Bedroom at Malfoy Manor, Hermione could think of nothing but the new position.

"I almost regret that I won't be back at work for two weeks! Two weeks is such a long time!"

"Not long enough." Draco, in his pajama bottoms with no shirt, reached for her hand. He guided her onto the bed opposite him, his hand going to her hip. She wore pajamas tonight, too, soft oversized cotton ones that covered up far too much for her for his taste.

"Oh, Draco! Please don't misunderstand." She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "I love you and I cannot wait for our trip. We will have an amazing time and I have no desire to see it fly by. I'm just excited about the future, that's all."

"I understand."

They crawled under the covers. She cuddled up to his side, her arm around his waist, and smiled when he stroked her hair.

"What shall we do first upon arriving in Egypt?" asked Draco, even though they'd discussed this dozens of times since making the decision to spend a fortnight in Cairo and Giza.

"Egyptian Antiquities Museum," she said. "Followed by the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, then the Pyramids, then the Great Sphinx, then the..."

"Then the Erumpent Sanctuary, followed by the Egyptian Academy of Higher Wizarding Education, and finally tomb of Osiris Shafiq, alchemist and famous spell creator who developed the magic of Obliviation as an alternative for using Swooping Venom to erase the memories of Muggles."

"I love it when you regurgitate information I've forced upon you when you'd rather discuss Quidditch or Ministry gossip instead." She kissed his bare shoulder.

"I love it when you force information upon me even when I'd rather discuss Quidditch or Ministry gossip instead. You're the fittest know-it-all I know. Go on, educate me."

"In the year 945, Osiris Shafiq, alchemist, was working with Swooping Evil, experimenting with the venom to determine how and why its magic was able to rob Muggles of their memories while having no effect on wizards and witches..." Her lips went to the center of his chest and began to blaze a trail south. He groaned.

"945, Swooping Evil, memory erasure..." He threaded his fingers into the back of her hair, groaning again when her breasts brushed against his groin as her tongue traced patterns across his midsection.

"Swooping Evil venom, when diluted, erases only bad memories, which works even for Magical folk when properly applied or ingested. He was inspired by this to try creating a safer way to erase or alter specific memories." She bit the top of his pajama bottoms, pulling them away from his waist, and drawing them down.

"Fuck," he said, twisting his hips, feeling a familiar tug in his groin as his cock twitched.

"Tell me what you've learned."

"Diluted venom erases bad memories."

"Good man." She pressed her lips to the base of his cock, taking his semi-hardness in her hand. She flicked her tongue once over the head before continuing the 'lesson.'

"He was able to isolate the magic and make it work with a wand, no venom necessary. His Obliviate was immediately in high demand across the Middle East and Europe, eventually spreading across the entire globe, earning him a place in wizarding history." She ran her hand up and down his shaft as she spoke, bringing him to a full erection. "But he never managed to create a counter-curse, a way of repairing or restoring the removed memories."

"I'm going to fuck you against the clay wall of his tomb," said Draco, accented by a deep moan, as she worked her mouth up and down his length. "I'm going to take you in every city in Egypt, every country on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, every–"

"Were you listening, Mr. Malfoy?" She pulled away from his body, shooting him a stern look that reminded him much too much of McGonagall. "He never managed..."

"To restore memories. Please don't stop. I love to learn."

She sucked him hard, her hand pumping, for several seconds before abruptly removing her lips from his cock, ready to impart more information.

By the time he was spent, he knew more than most wizards ever would about the art of Obliviation and its history. Twelve days later they entered the tomb of Osiris Shafiq.

"We could hang back, have a quick shag, and Obliviate the guards if we get caught," Draco whispered in Hermione's ear, careful not to be overheard by any other wizards or witches in their small tour group. "It would be even better than that secret passageway on your birthday."

She stifled a giggle and squeezed his hand, but shook her head.

"Be good, ferret."

"I'm always good," he said with a smirk. "And you love it."

"This way!" called the tour guide, waving them along the corridor. "There are dozens of rooms and the halls are a veritable labyrinth! Safest to stay together, so don't get separated from the group, please. "

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Draco.

But, moments later, he pulled Hermione into a small room off the main hall and cast a silencing charm. He leaned close, murmuring directly in her ear...

"Half the fun is the possibility of getting caught."

"You've corrupted me," she whispered in response, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And I love it."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Aww, it's so dorky and sweet the sugar kind of hurts my teeth (ha). Last chapter coming up! More of an epilogue, since this chapter and the last were supposed to be combined within the same wrap-it-up chapter. If there's anything you feel you need to know, let me know! I want to make sure any lingering questions are answered. Thanks so, so, so much for all of the follows, faves, and reviews. The support means everything!

 **-AL**

 **PS:** If you're into Hermione/Severus, please check out my new fic 'Just One Night,' about married Hermione (Minister for Magic) and married Severus (Hogwarts Headmaster) having an affair, which takes place over a series of "just one" nights. Caution, though: it's lighter on plot and citrus-heavy! Much more so than this one or 'All Roads Lead to Rome' and 'When Sorrows Come.' Thx!


	34. Closure

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:**

 **CLOSURE**

The day before the fifth year anniversary of the Battle at Hogwarts, Severus Snape completed a seventeen day ingredients-gathering mission and returned home to his wife eager for a hot shower, a cup of tea, and the physical comfort of his wife. Trotting happily at his side was Duchess, as usual. She seemed equally happy to be home.

"Severus!" Narcissa rose from the couch and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. "I've missed you!"

"I missed you, too." His hands went first to her hips and then to her arse, pulling her flush against him, envisioning her naked and hoping to make the fantasy a reality. "Is Hope sleeping? If so, I'll have you right here."

"Hope is sleeping..." she started, but her next words were silenced by his lips.

"Uncle!" shouted a small voice. Severus immediately unhanded his wife, who smiled and held out her arms for five-year-old Teddy to rush into them. Severus glanced around, confused (and rather relieved he hadn't already Vanished their clothes!).

"Andromeda is here?"

"Nana is sick," said Teddy. His hair and nose changed to mirror Severus'. Narcissa smiled and kissed the boy's cheek.

"You look better when you resemble your aunt," said Severus, poking Teddy on his overlarge honker. With a giggle, Teddy's hair went shoulder-length and white-blond.

"So handsome!" said Narcissa approvingly. He looked like a little Draco.

"Andromeda has taken ill?" asked Severus, concerned. Narcissa shook her head slightly.

"Let me settle Teddy down for his nap and I'll explain."

While Narcissa was reading the child a story and getting him to sleep, Severus took a quick, hot shower, dressed and dried his hair. The pair met in the kitchen where Butters had already prepared tea. Duchess lay under the table, probably hoping scraps would fall her way, but almost certainly to be disappointed as Severus and Narcissa did not drop food on the floor as the children often did.

"What happened?" asked Severus, adding sugar to his own tea, as he didn't like being served by the house-elf all the time.

"I couldn't reach you," said Narcissa, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "Four days ago, Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived here unexpectedly via Floo with Teddy in his arms. He explained that Andromeda had returned to the rehabilitation facility. Once we had Teddy distracted by a treat in the kitchen with Butters, the Minister took me into the sitting room and explained he'd had her involuntarily committed."

"What? Why?" Severus set down his mug and took Narcissa's hand. "Drinking again?"

"Worse. Teddy contacted him at the Ministry using Floo Powder, as he's seen Andromeda do, and told him he couldn't wake her. Kingsley Flooed there immediately to find she had mixed powdered root of aconite with the Mandrake leaves used in a Calming Draught and some Elven Herb, soaked the mixture into a potion, and... and in..." Narcissa's eyes darted toward the sitting room fireplace, visible through the doorway, as if she could see the Minister standing there with the boy in his arms. " _Injected_ it. With a... a... he called it a..."

"A needle?" supplied Severus. "Muggles used them for medicine. Or drugs."

"Yes, a needle, that was it." Narcissa sipped her tea and sighed. "Kingsley told Andromeda that was it, he was through being patient and trusting her to care for herself. He said she could either be arrested for concocting and using an illegal substance or she could return to that rehabilitation facility immediately."

"She wisely opted for rehab?"

"No." Narcissa nodded her acknowledgement to Butters, who'd just placed a plate of scones between the couple on the table. "She said 'arrest me then, but how will it look to the wizarding world, knowing the bloody _Minister_ has been shagging an addict for years and hasn't done a damn thing about it?'"

"She didn't!" Severus did not usually engage in the gossipy conversations his wife, her sister, and, on occasion, Hermione would get into, but he found himself leaning forward, fingers tented, eager to know what came next.

"He said he told her she could bugger off with that Slytherin manipulation, arrested her, and had her involuntarily committed to the rehabilitation facility for a period of twelve weeks, the longest allowable for a first time long-term patient. He warned me her condition may make the papers but thus far, silence."

Severus swore, sat back in his seat, and reached for a scone.

"For the next twelve weeks we have two small children?"

"Yes."

"Are we capable of caring for two small children?"

"Harry Potter offered to take the boy, but I insisted we keep him – his wife is due any day, and besides... I like having two small children." She drummed her long, recently manicured red nails on the table, avoiding his eye. "Are you angry?"

"Not at all."

This came as an obvious relief. She hadn't been sure when she'd agreed to care for the boy whether her husband would be understanding or annoyed. Though he was wonderful with their daughter, now two-and-a-half, he wasn't terrible talented when it came to dealing with children in general.

"She needs help, Severus."

"That, she does." He spread jam on his scone and took a large bite, savoring the taste. He'd been eating relatively poorly during his trip, as he'd had to pack in advance and had no way of preserving anything too complicated. "You've told Teddy she's sick?"

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"Tomorrow is... do you reckon tomorrow's date had anything to do with her... downfall?" he asked this delicately, as both he and Narcissa generally tried to avoid talking about certain anniversaries each year, including that of the Final Battle.

"I don't know. But that reminds me – are we going tomorrow?"

Narcissa had never attended a Final Battle Anniversary Remembrance Ceremony, but Severus had been to the last few, thinking it was necessary as he was both a famous survivor and a local business owner.

"Will you attend with me?"

"I think I'm ready." She picked up a scone too but did not make any attempt to eat it, instead pulling it apart and leaving the shredded bits all over the table for Butters to clean up later. Though Severus loved his wife as much now as he had nearly four years ago, this was a habit that drove him batty. Growing up hungry meant he still couldn't stomach witnessing the wasting of food, and as a boy leaving a mess like that would've gotten him beaten by his father.

"Must you?" he asked, gesturing toward the massacred scone.

"Yes," she said dryly. "I must." But knowing how he felt, she scooped it up, stood, and dropped it in the dog's dish so it wouldn't go to waste. She then returned to the table. "How was your excursion? Did you find everything you needed?"

From there, they dropped both the topics of Andromeda and of the anniversary. He told her about his travels, she told him about Draco's important recent shopping trip, and once he was done eating he stood, gathered her into his arms, and carried her upstairs to the bedroom.

"I missed you terribly," he admitted as he lowered her onto their bed, shooing Duchess away. "Did you fall in love with any better looking wizards while I was away?"

"Dozens," she teased. "But ultimately none of them had what you have."

"Enviable intellect, rapier wit, and a massive cock?"

She giggled and half-heartedly attempted to push him away. "No! A thriving apothecary, a Dilys Derwent Chocolate Frog Card, and an overly attached dog."

"Is she overly attached?" He paused in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt to glance at the Cocker Spaniel, who was seated beside the bed, tail wagging, head cocked to one side with pink tongue hanging out as she awaited being allowed back up on the mattress.

"I can't remember the last time I had sex without an audience."

"Hmm." He resumed unbuttoning. "I'd heard that was something you're into."

"Come here so I can kiss all of your scars and remind you of your bravery." She grabbed the open front of his shirt and pulled him down to claim his lips with hers. Within minutes both were naked and writhing, changing positions, breathing heavily and whispering words of affection, making up for over two weeks of lost time. When he finished, moments after she had, he stared up at her, his hands on either side of her thighs, and smiled, but the euphoria was short-lived.

"Severus?" She scritched along the center of his chest, pouting out her bottom lip, staring down at him with pleading eyes. "I want another baby."

"You're insane." He guided her down to lay flush against him, his arms wrapped around her back. "We have Draco, Hermione, Hope, and Teddy. That's quite enough."

"Two of those aren't ours," she pouted, but as she did, she felt a now-familiar heat crawling into her upper body, making her hotter than sex ever could. Her skin went red across her chest as beads of sweat formed on her upper body. He could feel the heat radiating from her.

"Are you... are you on fire?" He flipped them so she was on her back, then pulled off to examine her. "Have you a fever? Do you need–"

She burst into tears.

"I'll never have another baby!"

"Narcissa!" He gathered her close despite the warmth emanating from her body. "I'm sorry, but another baby could kill you, and I am not willing–"

"It's not that, it's... This is a hot flash, Severus!" She pushed him away grabbed for her wand, and flicked it, making a jet of cool air burst out, which she used to fan herself, wiping away the tears with her free hand, which she then used to grab his. "Feel my heart!"

She pressed his palm to the center of her chest. He couldn't feel anything, but she explained her heart was racing.

"Send an Owl to Minerva, because I'm going through the bloody change!"

"Wha... Oh!" Realization and understanding hit him. He bit back a chuckle. "Oh. Well, I don't believe you can hold it off by having another baby."

"I know!" She let loose an anguished cry. "This has been happening for months but this is the first time it's happened while you're present and awake! I've been trying to hide it, but... Merlin's beard, it's so bloody _hot_. Be honest, Severus. Am I blotchy? Am I hideous?"

"You're beautiful," he answered quickly, and not only because his wedding vows included telling her so even when she felt at her worst. Unable to lie, he added, "You _are_ blotchy, though."

"I'm so bloody hot – this is how it starts, sudden heat! Then, sometimes, a headache or dizziness. And the sweating. I _loathe_ sweating! Then in a few minutes I'll be freezing. Freezing! When did I get so damn _old_?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said dismissively, but he couldn't help adding in a teasing tone, "You won't be old for two more years."

"Less than!" she exclaimed. "I'll be fifty in _two months shy_ of two years!"

"But you'll always be younger than Andromeda." He kissed his wife's temple and extracted himself from the bed. Hope and Teddy were overdue to be awakened from their naps or they'd be up half the night. He did a quick cleaning spell and gathered his discarded clothes from the floor, where Duchess has taken pleasure in rolling over them, leaving dog hair everywhere. "You are forever the baby sister."

"That's true." This notion seemed to brighten Narcissa's outlook at least a little. "No matter how old I get, she'll always be two years older. Thanks, love. You always know just what to say."

He laughed.

Far away at Malfoy Manor, Hermione and Draco were readying themselves for an early dinner with her mother and siblings, whom they hadn't seen in over a month. Jean Granger had moved into her own place nearly two years before, after her divorce was finalized and Hermione's father agreed to pay support. Though her reopened dental practice meant she was too busy to spend as much time with her eldest daughter as she had when staying at the Manor, they sent letters often and were closer than ever.

"I can't wait to see Mum and the twins!" Hermione wrenched a brush through her tangled, frazzled curls with the intention of French braiding the mane.

"Yes, it's been a long time," said Draco... but this was a lie. In fact, he'd seen Jean Granger only three days earlier, when she'd joined him and his mother for a little shopping excursion. But Hermione did not need to know about that.

Dinner was pleasant, but Hermione couldn't help noticing the little looks her mother kept shooting her boyfriend. When they returned home that night, she placed her hands on her hips and asked, "How long have you and my mother been having an affair?"

"What? No! We... what?!" Draco sputtered, gray eyes wide with panic. It only took him a few seconds, though, to realize she was only needling him. "Shut it. It's nothng."

"I am certain something is going on! Out with it!"

"It's nothing!" Draco insisted. "She likes me, that's all. I'm a natural charming wizard. A philanthropist. An excellent older brother. And irresistibly good-looking."

Hermione snorted. "Sure, that must be it."

She and Draco changed for bed then, even though it was much earlier than they usually turned in, and held each other under the blankets, Crookshanks curled up by their feet. Neither wanted to acknowledge the fact that it had come – the five year anniversary of the start of the Battle of Hogwarts – and the next morning they'd find themselves at the ceremony again. Hermione hated that this was the way every damn year and almost missed being in Azkaban after her arrest on the first anniversary. She hated with every fiber of her being having to sit facing the crowd with Harry and Ron, Neville and Severus, McGonagall and the Minister – all the key players.

Hermione wished she could be like Mrs. Weasley, who refused to be recognized for having murdered Bellatrix Lestrange, an act she felt was right in the moment but had lived to regret, as even murdering a monster to protect one's child is capable of splitting the soul, at least symbolically. Mrs. Weasley did not even attend the ceremonies anymore. She stayed home with her grandchildren: four-year-old Freddy, three-year-old Victoire, and newborn Dominique, soon to be joined by James Sirius, due any day.

Ginny wasn't present this year either, for obvious reasons, but of course Harry was. He shook hands with Draco, hugged Hermione, and greeted Severus, who looked utterly miserable to be back on Hogwarts' grounds despite a warm hello from Minerva minutes earlier.

"We shouldn't have come," said a voice from behind Harry. He turned to see Narcissa, balancing Hope on her hip, holding Teddy's hand. Harry greeted his godson cheerily, lifting him into the hair and pretending to drop him, making the boy squeal and laugh. Teddy had bubblegum pink hair today, his favorite color, but otherwise wore his natural features.

"We can leave," said Severus in a low voice. "Have one of those hot flashes. I'll tell Shacklebolt you've come down with a fever."

"I can't 'hot flash' on command, love."

"Damn." Severus took Hope from his wife and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "We could say she has a fever. A lightly applied Aquamenti against her hairline should create the appearance of sweat..."

"Severus, Narcissa!" The booming voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted their scheming. "Good morning. You are ready for the ceremony?"

"Must we do this every damn year, Shacklebolt?" asked Severus. Though he'd gotten to know the former Order member better since the man had started seeing Andromeda, they weren't exactly close. Severus felt the Minister still didn't fully trust him, whereas the Minister felt that Severus could hardly stand to be social with anyone, let alone a man whose very presence reminded him of an unpleasant past. "Ripping open old wounds, and for what? Does it help the survivors to move on? Does it bring comfort to the loved ones of those lost? It's an excuse for the general public and the Daily bloody Prophet to gape at us, try to gauge our pain levels, and feel as though they're part of something they can never truly understand, not the way we know it."

"This is the end," said Kingsley, parting his hands and holding his palms up to the sky as if to say it was being given over to the heavens. "Perhaps at year ten or fifteen there will be interest in hosting a smaller ceremony of remembrance, and I am certain the people will demand _something_ at year twenty-five, but I – and the Ministry – agree with you. We must remember those lost and honor their sacrifices without... this." He gestured around. They were in the grass overlooking the lake, near Dumbledore's tomb, where his funeral had been. Witches and wizards and paparazzi were milling about, chatting. Those who were hardly touched by the war shared war stories to make themselves seem more connected, just as Severus had said, while those who lived with the painful memories every day chatted about the weather or the Weird Sisters, or sat quietly in the preset chairs, simply waiting.

"Have you spoken to my sister?" whispered Narcissa. She picked up Teddy, just returned to her by Harry Potter, who'd been spotted by Rita Skeeter and was trying to make himself seem too busy discussing Draco's latest charity to have time to talk.

"I paid a visit, but she will not speak to me except to say I betrayed her and ought to kill myself using the knife I left in her back."

Narcissa winced. He shrugged it off.

"She has a long road to recovery and if being angry with me makes her feel better in the moment, I am willing to be made the sacrificial lamb."

"Minister?" called Hestia Jones, who was standing by the podium. Though they had no romantic interest in each other, not anymore, not in years, she had ascended to the role of his right hand in the Ministry. "We're starting shortly. I need you and... and the others to take your seats."

"Of course." He inclined his head at Narcissa. "Excuse me."

She nodded and turned to Severus. "I suppose this means you have to go, too."

"I sit up front." He kissed her forehead, then did the same to his daughter. "It's almost over."

Thankfully, the ceremony was the shortest to date. Harry, Neville, Minerva, and Kingsley spoke, but all kept their remarks brief, and afterward Narcissa and Severus used the children as an excuse to miss the VIP meal held in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, cleared free of students (who would be eating lunch in their Common Rooms).

Though they joined the others, including most of their friends, for the light repast, Hermione apologetically informed the rest of their table that she and Draco had to be going in short order.

"We're going on holiday," she explained. "Two weeks in the United States! Our sixth country in the last three years and the farthest away thus far. We're going to visit the Salem Witches Institute in Massachusetts and the MACUSA Headquarters in New York City and the Apparitions Library in Savannah, Georgia! It'll be Draco's first time on an airplane!"

"A giant metal bird with wings that don't flap," said Draco, looking a little green. "Can't wait."

Back at the little house owned by Severus and Narcissa Snape, the couple and the two children were eating lunch, speculating about how the trip would go.

"He's anxious," said Severus, passing the pitcher of gillywater to his wife. "I could sense it this morning."

"He needn't be. She truly does love him. I could sense it when we were last out to dinner together."

"I spent a few days at the Hogsmeade location before my trip, doing inventory while Patil and Carrow-Goyle covered the main shop. Draco stopped in for lunch. They're sickening together."

"More affectionate now than they were when they were first dating. I know, I noticed it too. I worried she might be pregnant but she's not."

"You asked her?"

"Don't be silly. I told her I was considering having another baby while utilizing Legilimency. If she were pregnant, I'd have seen a flash of something..."

"You could have simply asked her."

"I could have, I chose not to." She smiled. "If I am to be denied more babies, I would like – Teddy, get that carrot out of your nose – grandbabies."

"Getting married, assuming they do, does not guarantee children. Granger is highly capable as a potions mistress. Her experimental brewing has impressed me, especially as of late. She may – Hope, we do not wipe our hands on our shirts – wish to continue focusing on her career. She is in the process of patenting her first potion."

Narcissa sighed into her gillywater. "As far as I've evolved since the war, I still cannot fathom why any woman would want to work when she could marry a wealthy man and stay home instead. Especially if she's even reasonably attractive! Reasonably attractive woman should not work. Except Andromeda. _She_ should work. That seems a proper punishment for turning down the proposal of the Minister for Magic, like an imbecile."

Severus, grinning, leaned across the table to peck his wife on the lips, much to the audible disgust of Teddy and to Hope's giggly amusement. "You're terribly spoiled, occasionally shallow, and a bit petty, but I wouldn't have you any other way, Mrs. Snape."

"I love you too, you overgrown bat."

Across the pond, both Draco (once he recovered from his airplane-induced motion sickness) and Hermione were thoroughly enjoying America, both the magical parts and the Muggle (or No-Maj, as they called them there). They perused the underground subway station where famed Auror Tina Goldstein and her not-yet-husband Newt Scamander helped MACUSA officials trap Grindelwald, mourned over the deaths of accused witches in Salem, where real witches escaped while their non-magic female peers (and one man) were victims of a literal witch hunt, and subtly chuckled at No-Maj's who were convinced their supposedly haunted pirate restaurant in Savannah was anything _but_ , despite the ghosts Hermione and Draco could see floating between tables and looking longingly at the food.

The last leg of their trip was in New York City, where they'd flown into and would be flying back out of. Draco had done considerable research with the help of Jean Granger and had made arrangements to take Hermione to a restaurant in the borough of Brooklyn, across a large brown bridge, where they could sit outside in the dark, overlooking the bright Manhattan skyline across a river.

"The lights twinkle like diamonds," said Hermione, her chin resting on her hand as she stared at a particularly interesting building beyond the bridge, one with a tall lit up spire jutting straight up into the sky. The Empire State Building, she believed it was. "Don't you think so, Draco? Like hundreds of tiny diamonds – or stars. But you know they're not. They're from windows in buildings full of people in a city that doesn't sleep."

"Do you like diamonds?" he asked, but he immediately wanted to kick himself for such a stupid lead in.

"Sure," she answered casually. "They're pretty."

"Do you like this diamond?" He held out an open box, a little box he'd been carrying on his person for weeks, containing a silver, shiny piece of jewelry both his mother and hers had helped him choose. She tore her eyes from the Empire State Building, staring down at the object in his hands.

"That's a ring."

"Yes, it is."

"It looks like an engagement ring."

"It is," said Draco. "If you'll marry me."

She gasped, hands flying up to her mouth, and his heart fluttered wildly. Suddenly, he feared he'd made a terrible mistake, she was about to say no, and he would be heartbroken.

"Oh, Draco," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Your mother said she thought the cut and size would suit you. My mother suggested the ruby chip on one side with the emerald on the other, to represent our Houses. I chose silver because I know you're not fond of wearing gold jewelry, and..."

"Yes, Draco!" she cut him off, her hands dropping to the table in front of her. "Yes, I'd be happy to marry you!"

"You would?" He cleared his throat, straightened up, and held the box closer to her. "I knew you would. I wasn't worried."

She grinned at this unintentional admission of his anxiety before leaping from her chair to press a kiss to his lips. She let him slide the ring onto her finger and marveled at it under the moonlight, holding out her hand to see the diamond twinkle along with all the ones across the river.

"I'll be Mrs. Ferret." She returned to her seat, beaming across the table at him. He pulled a face.

"Will that make me Mr. Know-It-All?"

They were married on a Tuesday in June, just over one year later. Bridesmaids included Luna and Ginny, while Goyle and little Teddy stood up for Draco. Narcissa was thrilled to throw the reception, Aquila Hope was not too whiny about having to wear a fancy dress, and both of Hermione's parents attended, though she decided to forgo being walked down an aisle "like a piece of transferred property."

During the after party, while they watched guests chat and enjoy themselves, Severus and Hermione stood by the large picture windows in the Drawing Room of Malfoy Manor. He clinked his champagne flute to hers and offered his congratulations.

"It's funny, isn't it?" asked Hermione, smiling up at her former professor. "After the war, we were all suffering in our own way, and while I was assigned to help Draco and you were enlisted to aid Narcissa, I think they ended up helping us too. Don't you think, Sir? Or... or am I being silly and overly emotional on account of this being my wedding day?"

"Neither silly nor overly emotional," he assured her, glancing across the room. Narcissa was attempting to smooth down Draco's long, tied back hair, and while they couldn't hear what the two were saying, the groom's exaggerated eye roll was enough to give them an idea.

"Do you ever feel guilty, Sir, for surviving the war when so many did not?"

"You needn't call me Sir when we are not at work, Hermione." Severus had told her this before, of course, but old habits were hard to break. "And yes, I do, but not as much now as I did in the past. War is a terrible thing and I entered into the second with the understanding and acceptance that I would not live to see the end of it. At first, I was sorry to have been proven wrong, but once I had something – someone – to live for..."

"I still feel guilty sometimes," she admitted quietly, suddenly all too interested in the bubbles in her champagne, unable to look anywhere else but at her glass. "Draco still misses his father. I had a dream about Dobby a few nights ago. And Andromeda..." The face of Nymphadora Tonks flashed through Hermione's mind's eye so clearly, Severus saw it too even though he was not intentionally employing Occlumency. "I'm sorry Teddy is an orphan."

"He is sufficiently loved and well cared for," said Severus, his eyes now scanning the room for the boisterous, pink-haired boy. He spotted him in the center of the dance floor, twirling three-and-a-half-year-old Hope, who looked like her mother but with Severus' eyes, around under his arm. Both fell onto their backsides and got up giggling, as Orlando, Ophelia, and Freddy Weasley rushed over to join them.

"That's the best we can do, isn't it, Sir... er, Severus? Love them and care for them."

"That is the best we can do." Though he was not typically one for displays of affection, he leaned over and kissed her head in a fatherly way. He then glanced back toward Narcissa, who was now trying to adjust the collar on Draco's formal robes as if he were a little boy, much to his obvious chagrin. Severus smirked. "Now if you'll excuse me, Hermione, I am going to go save your husband from my wife."

Hermione nodded. She watched him walk over to the pair, suddenly shaken by the realization she had a _husband_. At once she felt both incredibly grown up and much like a little girl. Only six years and two months ago, she had been tortured in this very room. Held down by a sadist and carved into with a knife. Hit with the Cruciatus repeatedly, eventually going unconscious, but never breaking. She'd thought she might die that day. It was a very real possibility. And yet, here she was, most definitely alive. In love with a man who'd been the enemy, kissed on the head by an ornery professor who'd made her cry in class on at least two occasions, and happily married into a family that had previously caused her so much pain.

She watched as Hope and Ophelia ran up to Draco, each grabbing one of his hands and pulling him to the center of the dance floor. He lifted one in each arm and spun around with them, making them shout out with delight, as Teddy rushed over to say "Me next! Me too!" Draco grinned down at his little cousin as the sad reality struck Hermione that he and Tonks might have been friends, had they ever been able to get to know each other. Their mothers wasted a lot of years as enemies over something as stupid as blood _status_ being more important than being _blood_. It seemed ridiculous now. Their world had certainly come a long way in the last six years.

 _Time heals_ , Hermione thought, finishing off the last of her champagne. Certainly, as the Stages of Grief book said, there was a process to it: Denial, shock, guilt, and anger, isolation, regret, depression, confusion, and fear, then, finally, reconstruction, acceptance, growth, and hope. All of these led to the desired last step: closure.

There were a number of ways to combat grief, to work through it and escape to the other side. But more than anything else, the healer was simply time.

And now, it was time to go join her husband on the dance floor.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I know, this ending is even cheesier than the ending of the last chapter! I don't always do Happily Ever After style endings, but after all the characters went through in through their STAGES OF GRIEF, how could I not?!

Meanwhile, an Andromeda-related plot bunny attacked me while I was working on this, so she now has her own little ficlet, ANDROMEDA TONKS: LONG-TERM, ADDICT. If you want to learn a little more about what led to her drug use and being involuntarily committed, check it out!

I'm also working on a new Hermione/Snape called JUST ONE NIGHT, which is, unsurprisingly, about the two of them having an affair. She's the Minister for Magic, he's Hogwarts Headmaster, and they're both miserably married with two children each. It's not like this one – smuttier, darker in a different way, not linear, and I'm not ready to promise a HEA because I'm currently waffling between two endings – but I'm having fun with it.

I have also returned to ALL ROADS LEAD TO ROME and hope to have a new chapter up soon. I fell off the wagon with that one for awhile when my outline fell apart and the muse tried to escape, but I'm better now.

Thank you to everyone who read, followed, and reviewed this fic! I hugely appreciate it. I loved reading your responses and hope if you've gotten this far you'll tell me what you thought of the ending and/or of the story overall. Specific reviewer thank yours will come in the form of PMs.

Thanks again!

 **-AL**


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